Broken Hearts
by Mondlerfan101
Summary: Someone murdered his wife and Chandler Bing is determined to find out who. He's loosing sleep and time as he is left to raise their son alone. But when he is confronted by Ms. Monica Geller regarding his sons schooling, Chandler begins to wonder if there is more to life than revenge. He begins to believe that love can come around twice in one lifetime, and soon nothing else matters
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note

Okay, I'm really nervous about posting this story. I don't know how you guys will react to it because I'm taking the original friends story and I'm putting my own little twist on it. Chandler lives outside the city (don't know where, not really important), while Monica just moved from a small town called Saratoga Springs (googled it, it's about 3 hours from Manhattan, NY) to the city in the famous apartment 20. She's a teacher, he's a sheriff. I know, Chandler, a sheriff? Joey is his best friend, of course, and also works in the police department. Rachel works as a secretary in the school Monica is teaching at. Ross will be brought up later, Phoebe is mentioned though we may never see her. Here is the part you are going to hate me for...Joey and Rachel are married.

Doesn't sound too interesting to be honest but you may want to know the above information to continue reading.

Final note: these first two chapters are back stories just to get a deeper meaning of the characters and what they've been through.

* * *

It's been a little more than two years after his wife had passed away, as Chandler Bing stood on the back porch of his house. Smoking a cigarette, he watched as the sun woke slowly; changing the morning sky from dark gray to bright orange.

A small suburb just outside the city of New York is where Chandler was settled. His home overlooked a calm river, surrounded by oak trees and tire swings. When the young couple first moved in, there were only a few other homes. Now, it seemed the entire river was lined with families. Everything he could ever want in a home was in this area. If he didn't have it, he built it. It only took a few weeks into the move to build a small dock off the shore where he later anchored a fishing boat during the warmer months. He honestly loved this place, there was nothing like it.

The smoke from Chandler's cigarette disappeared as it swirled upward; the humidity was rising, thickening the air. In time, the birds began their morning songs, their whistles filling the air with joy. Chandler continued to look out at the river as a small bass boat passed by. The fisherman waved, and Chandler acknowledged the gesture with a slight nod. He wanted to be neighborly but it was all the energy he could summon.

He yearned for a cup of coffee. A little java and he'd feel ready to face the day. The list of uncompleted tasks seemed endless at the start of each morning. He needed to get Jonah off to school, keep the county at bay, as well as handling whatever else inevitably cropped up, like meeting with Jonah's teacher later in the afternoon. And that was just for starters. The evenings, if anything, seemed even busier. There was always so much to do to keep the household running smoothly: paying the bills, shopping, cleaning, repairing things around the house. Even in those rare moments when Chandler found himself with a little free time on his hands, he felt as if he had to take advantage of it right away or he'd lose the opportunity. The world wasn't stopping and with time it felt as if it was speeding up. It seemed he hardly had time to breath these days.

He really needed coffee. The nicotine wasn't cutting it anymore, and he thought about throwing the cigarettes out, but then again, it didn't matter whether he did or not. In his mind, he didn't really smoke. Sure, he had a few cigarettes during the course of the day, but that wasn't real smoking. It wasn't as though he burned through a pack a day, and it wasn't as if he'd been doing it his whole life, either; he'd started after Kathy's death, and he could stop anytime he wanted. But why bother? Hell, his lungs were in good shape still - just last week, he had to run after a shoplifter and had no trouble catching the kid. A _smoker_ couldn't do that.

Then again, the rundown hadn't been as easy as when he was twenty-two. But that was ten years ago, and let's be honest, he wasn't getting any younger. And he could feel it, too. There was a time during college when he and his friends would start their evenings at eleven o'clock and proceed to stay out the rest of the night. In the last few years, except for those times he was on a stake-out, eleven o'clock was late.

He no longer found reasons to stay up that late. Even if he wasn't tired, he still established an excuse to lie down. He couldn't imagine any reason strong enough to make him want to stay up any later than he had to. Exhaustion had become a permanent fixture in his life. Even on those nights when Jonah didn't have his nightmares - he'd been having them on and off since Kathy died - Chandler would wake-up feeling tired. Unfocused. Sluggish, as if he were moving around underwater. Most of the time, he attributed this to the hectic life he lived; but sometimes he wondered if it was something more serious than he led on. He'd read once that one of the symptoms of clinical depression was "undue lethargy, without reason or cause." Of course, he did have cause...

What he really needed was some quiet time at a little beachfront cottage down in Key West, a place where he could fish or simply relax in a gently swaying hammock while drinking a cold beer. He was done facing major life decisions. The next major decision he wants to face is whether or not to wear sandals as he walked on the beach with a nice woman at his side.

That was part of it, too. Loneliness. He was tired of being alone, of waking up in an empty bed, though the feeling still surprised him. He hadn't felt that way until recently. In the first year after the funeral, Chandler couldn't even begin to imagine loving another woman. Ever. It was as if the urge for female companionship didn't exist at all. He had his opportunity with love, and now he doesn't; it's a one time deal. You can't feel that strongly for someone twice.

Most things, after all, hadn't changed after the funeral. Bills kept coming, Jonah needed to eat, the grass needed to be mowed. He still had a job. Once, after too many beers, Joey, his best friend, had asked him what it was like to lose a wife, and Chandler had told him that it didn't seem as if Kathy were really gone. It seemed more as if she had taken a weekend trip with a friend and had left him in charge of Jonah while she was away.

Time passed and so eventually did the numbness he'd grown accustomed to. In its place, reality settled in. As much as he tried to move on, Chandler still found his thoughts drawn to Kathy. Everything, it seemed, reminded him of her. Especially Jonah, who looked more like her the older he got. Sometimes, when Chandler stood in the doorway after tucking Jonah in, he could see his wife in the small features of his son's face, and he would have to turn away before Jonah could see the tears. But the image would stay with him for hours; how he spread across the pillow, his one arm always resting above her head, her lips slightly parted, the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed...

When they were first married, him and Kathy used to have lunch at Central Perk, a small cafe just down the street from the bank where she worked. It was out of the way, quiet, and somehow its cozy embrace made them both feel as if nothing would ever change between them. They hadn't gone much once Jonah had been born, but Chandler started going again once she was gone, as if hoping to find some remnant of those feelings still lingering on the brick walls. At home, too, he ran his life according to what she used to do. Since Kathy had gone to the grocery store on Thursday evenings, that's when Chandler went, too. Because Kathy liked to grow tomatoes along the side of the house, Chandler grew them, too. Kathy had thought Lysol was the best all purpose kitchen cleaner, so he saw no reason to use anything else. Kathy was always there, in everything he did.

But sometime last spring, that feeling began to change. It came without warning, and Chandler sensed it as soon as it happened. While driving downtown, he caught himself staring at a young couple walking hand in hand as they moved down the sidewalk. And for just a moment, Chandler imagined himself as the man, and that the woman was with him. Or if not her, then _someone...someone_ who would love not only him, but Jonah as well. Someone who could make him laugh, someone to share a bottle of wine with over a leisurely dinner, someone to hold and touch and to whisper quietly with after the lights had been turned off. Someone like Kathy, he thought to himself, and her image immediately brought up feelings of guilt and betrayal overwhelming enough for it to banish the young couple from his mind forever.

Or so he assumed.

Later that night, right after crawling into bed, he found himself thinking about them again. And though the feelings of guilt and betrayal were still there, they weren't as powerful as they had been earlier that day. And in that moment, Chandler knew he'd taken the first step toward finally coming to terms with his loss.

He began to justify his new reality by telling himself that he was a widower now, that it was okay to have these feelings, and he knew no one would disagree with him. No one expected him to live the rest of his life alone; in the past few months, friends had even offered to set him up with a couple of dates. Besides, he knew that Kathy would have wanted him to marry again. She'd said as much to him more than once. Like most couples, they'd played the "what if" game, and though neither of them had ever expected anything terrible to happen, both had been in agreement that it wouldn't be right for Jonah to grow up with one parent. It wouldn't be right for the surviving spouse. Still, it seemed a little too soon.

As the summer wore on, the thoughts about finding someone new began to surface more frequently and with more intensity, Kathy was still there, Kathy would always be there...yet Chandler began thinking more seriously about finding someone to share his life with. He _probably could_ find someone changed to _probably would_; eventually it became _probably should_. At this point, however - no matter how much he wanted it to be otherwise - his thoughts still reverted back to _probably won't_.

On the shelf in his bedroom, in a bulging manila envelope, sat the file concerning his late-wife's death, the one he'd made for himself in the months following her funeral. He kept it with him so he wouldn't forget what happened, he kept it to remind him of the work he still had to do.

He kept it to remind him of his failure.

A few minutes later, after stubbing out the cigarette on the railing and heading inside, Chandler poured the coffee he needed and headed down the hall. Jonah was still asleep when he pushed open the door and peeked in. Good, he still had a little time, so he headed towards the bathroom.

After he turned the faucet, the shower groaned and hissed for a moment before the water finally poured out. He showered and shaved and brushed his teeth; in that order. He ran a comb through his hair, noticing again that there seemed to be less of it now than there used to be; it was thinning out and loosing color. He hurriedly put on his sheriff's uniform; next he took down his holster from the lock-box above the closet door and put that on as well. From the hallway, he heard Jonah rustling in his room. This time, Jonah looked up with puffy eyes as soon as Chandler came in to check on him. He was still sitting in bed, his hair disheveled. He hadn't been awake for more than a few minutes.

Chandler smiled softly. "Good morning, champ."

Jonah looked up from his bed, almost as if in slow motion. "Hey, Dad."

"You ready for some breakfast?"

He stretched his arms out to the side, groaning slightly. "Can I have pancakes?"

"How about some waffles instead? We're running a little late."

Jonah bent over and grabbed his pants. Chandler had laid them out the night before. "You say that every morning."

Shrugging, he said honestly. "You're late every morning."

"Then wake me up sooner."

"I have a better idea, why don't you go to sleep when I tell you to?"

"I'm not tired then. I'm only tired in the mornings."

"Join the club."

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Chandler answered. He pointed to the bathroom. "Don't forget to brush you hair after you get dressed."

"I won't." Jonah said

Most mornings followed the same routine. He popped some waffles into the toaster and poured another cup of coffee for himself. By the time Jonah had dressed and made it to the kitchen, his waffle was waiting on his plate, a glass of milk beside it. Chandler had already spread the butter, but Jonah liked to add the syrup himself. As he ate, Chandler started on his own waffle, and for a minute, neither of them said anything. Jonah still looked as if he were in his own little world, and though Chandler needed to talk to him, he wanted him to at least seem coherent when he began asking questions.

After a few minutes of silence, Chandler finally cleared his throat.

"So, how's school going?" he asked

Jonah shrugged. "Fine, I guess."

This too, was part of the routine. Chandler always asked how school was going; Jonah always answered that it was fine. But earlier that morning, while getting his backpack ready, Chandler had found a note from Jonah's teacher, asking him if it was possible to meet today. Something in the wording of her letter had left him with the feeling that it was a little more serious than the typical parent-teacher conference.

"You doing okay in class?"

Jonah shrugged. "Uh-huh."

"Do you like your teacher?"

Jonah nodded in between bites. "Uh-huh," he answered again.

Chandler waited to see if Jonah would add anything more, but he didn't, so he leaned a little closer.

"Then why didn't you tell me about the note your teacher sent home?"

"What note?" he asked innocently.

"The note in your backpack - the one your teacher wanted me to read."

Jonah shrugged again, his shoulders popping up and down like the waffles in the toaster. "I guess I just forgot."

"How could you forget something like that?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know why she wants to see me?"

"No..." Jonah hesitated, and Chandler knew immediately that he wasn't telling the truth.

"Son, are you in trouble at school?"

At this, Jonah blinked and looked up. His father didn't call him "son" unless he'd done something wrong. "No, Dad. I don't ever act up. I promise."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know."

"Think about it."

Jonah squirmed in his seat, knowing he'd reached the limit of his father's patience. "Well, I guess I might be having a little trouble with some of the work."

"I thought you said school was going okay."

"School _is_ going okay. Miss Geller is really nice and all, and I like it there." He paused. "It's just that sometimes I don't understand everything that's going on in class."

"That's why you go to school. So you can learn."

"I know," he answered, "but she's not like Mrs. Hayes was last year. The work she assigns is _hard._ I just can't do some of it."

Jonah looked scared and embarrassed at exactly the same time. Chandler reached out and put his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Why didn't you tell me you were having trouble?"

It took a long time for Jonah to answer.

"Because," he said finally, "I didn't want you to be mad at me."

XXX

After breakfast, after making sure Jonah was ready to go, Chandler helped him with his backpack and led him to the front door. Jonah hadn't said much since breakfast. Squatting down, Chandler kissed him on the cheek. "Don't worry about this afternoon. It's gonna be all right, okay?"

"Okay," Jonah mumbled.

"And don't forget that I'll be picking you up, so don't get on the bus."

"Okay," he said again.

"I love you, champ."

"I love you, too, Dad."

Chandler watched as his son headed toward the bus stop at the end of the block. Kathy, he knew, wouldn't have been surprised by what had happened this morning, as he had been. Kathy would have already known that Jonah was having trouble at school. Kathy had taken care of things like this.

Kathy had taken care of everything.


	2. Chapter 2

The night before she was to meet with Chandler Bing, Monica Geller was walking through Central Park, doing her best to keep a steady pace. Though she wanted to get the most from her workout since she'd moved here, she'd found it hard to do. Every time she went out, she found something new to interest her, something that would make her stop and stare.

Central Park is an urban park founded in 1853 and is situated between the Upper West Side and the Upper East Side in Manhattan, New York. Throughout the grounds, tulips and azaleas bloomed each spring, and chrysanthemums blossomed in the fall. Monica had taken a tour when she'd first arrived. Though the gardens were between seasons, she'd nonetheless left her hometown wanting to live within walking distance so she could pass it each day.

She'd moved into a quaint apartment on Middle Street a few blocks away, in the heart of downtown. The apartment was above a small cafe and around the corner from the loud busy streets of Time Square. When she left her apartment to take her walk, Monica passed both sites as she made her way to where many of the towering skyscrapers had stood gracefully for the past two hundred years.

As she walked, she reflected on how different Manhattan was from her home town Saratoga Springs, New York. She hardly left the town where she'd been born and raise; everything she needed was within walking distance. Though Saratoga had its own rich history, it was a small town first and foremost. It is relatively isolated and largely uninterested in keeping up with the ever quickening pace of life elsewhere. People would wave as she passed them on the street, and any question she was asked usually solicited a long, slow-paced answer, generally peppered with references to people or events that she'd heard many times before, as if everything and everyone were somehow connected. Usually it was nice, other times it drove her insane.

Saratoga Springs, she'd learned almost right away, was not a town for singles. There weren't many places to meet people, and the ones her own age that she had met were already married, with families of their own. With most people married, it was hard for a single woman to find a place to fit in, or even to live. Especially someone who was divorced and known to the area. It was, however, an ideal place to raise children, and sometimes as she walked, Monica liked to imagine that things had turned out differently for her. As a young girl, she'd always assumed she would have the kind of life she wanted: marriage, children, a home in a neighborhood where families gathered in the yards on Friday evenings after work was finished for the week. That was the kind of life she'd had as a child, and it was the kind she wanted as an adult. But it hadn't worked out that way. Things in life seldom did, she'd come to understand.

For a while, though, she had believed anything was possible, especially when she'd met Pete. She was finishing up her teaching degree; Pete had just received his MBA from Georgetown. His family, one of the most prominent in Saratoga, had made their fortune in banking and were immensely wealthy and proper, the type of family that sat on the boards of various corporations and instituted policies at country clubs. Pete, however, seemed to reject his family's values and was regarded as the ultimate catch. Heads would turn when he entered a room, and though he knew what was happening, his most endearing quality was that he pretended other people's images of him didn't matter at all.

_Pretended,_ of course, was the key word.

Monica, like every one of her friends, knew who he was when he showed up at a party, and she'd been surprised when he's come up to say hello a little later in the evening. They'd hit it off right away. The short conversation had led to a longer one over coffee the following day, then eventually to dinner. Soon they were dating steadily and she'd fallen in love. After a year, Pete asked her to marry him.

Her mother was thrilled at the news, but her father didn't say much at all, other than he hoped that she would be happy. Maybe he suspected something, maybe he'd simply been around long enough to know there were no such thing as fairy tales. Whatever it was, he didn't tell her at the time, and to be honest, Monica didn't take the time to question his reservations, except when Pete asked her to sign a prenuptial agreement. He went on to explain that his family had insisted on it, but even though he did his best to cast all the blame on his parents, a part of her suspected he insisted upon it himself. She nonetheless signed the papers. That evening, Pete's parents threw a lavish engagement party to formally announce their upcoming marriage.

Seven months later, Monica and Pete were married. They honeymooned in Greece and Turkey; when they got back to Saratoga, they moved into a home less than two blocks from where Pete's parents lived. Though she didn't have to work, Monica began teaching second grade at an inner-city elementary school. Surprisingly, Pete had been fully supportive of her decision, but that was typical of their relationship at the time.

In the first two years of their marriage, everything seemed perfect: She and Pete spent hours in bed on the weekends, talking and making love, and he confided in her his dreams of entering politics one day. They had a large circle of friends, mainly people Pete had known his entire life, and there was always a party to attend or weekend trips out of town. They spent their remaining free time vacationing around the world, exploring museums, attending the theater, and walking among the monuments. It was in London, while standing inside the Kensington Gardens, that Pete told Monica he was ready to start a family. She threw her arms around him as soon as he'd said the words, knowing that nothing he could have said would have made her any happier.

Who can explain what happened next? Several months after that blissful day at the Gardens, Monica still wasn't pregnant. Her doctor told her not to worry, that it sometimes took a while after going off the pill, but he suggested she see him again later that year if they were still having problems.

They were, and tests were scheduled. A few days later, when the results were in, they met with the doctor. As they sat across from him, one look was enough to let her know that something was wrong.

It was then that Monica learned her ovaries were incapable of producing eggs.

A week later, Monica and Pete had their first major fight. Pete hadn't come home from work, and she'd paced the floor for hours while waiting for him, wondering why he hadn't called and imagining that something terrible had happened. By the time he came home, she was frantic and Pete was drunk. "You don't own me" was all he offered by way of explanation, and from there, the argument went downhill fast. They said terrible things in the heat of the moment. Monica regretted all of them later that night; Pete was apologetic. But after that, Pete seemed more distant, more reserved. When she pressed him, he denied that he felt any differently toward her. "It'll be okay," he said, "we'll get through this."

Instead, things between them grew steadily worse. With every passing month, the arguments became more frequent; the distance grew. One night, when she suggested again that they could always adopt, Pete simply waved off the suggestion: "My parents won't accept that."

Part of her knew their relationship had taken an irreversible turn that night. It wasn't his words that gave it away, nor was it the fact that he seemed to be taking his parents' side. It was the look on his face, the one that let her know he suddenly seemed to regard the problem as hers, not theirs.

Less than a week later, she found Pete sitting in the dining room, a glass of bourbon at his side. From the unfocused look in his eyes, she knew it wasn't the first one he'd had. He wanted a divorce, he began; he was sure she understood. By the time he was finished, Monica found herself unable to say anything in response, nor did she want to.

The marriage was over. It had lasted less than three years. Monica was twenty-seven years old.

The next twelve months were a blur. Everyone wanted to know what had gone wrong; other than her family, Monica told no one. "it just didn't work out" was all she would say whenever someone asked.

Because she didn't know what else to do, Monica continued to teach. She also spent two hours a week talking to a wonderful counselor, Phoebe. When Phoebe recommended a support group, Monica went to a few of the meetings. Mostly, she listened, and she thought she was doing better. But sometimes, as she sat alone in her small apartment, the reality of the situation would bear down hard and she would begin to cry again, not stopping for hours. She wasn't happy there, she couldn't bare the memories. It was then that she'd realized she had to leave Saratoga Springs; she needed a place to start over. She needed a place where the memories wouldn't be so painful. Somewhere she'd never lived before.

Now, walking the streets of Central Park, Monica was doing her best to move on. She wiped the single line of sweat from her brow, thankful that the air was beginning to cool. The sun was dropping lower in the sky, and the shadows lengthened. As she strode past the lake she thought about renting a canoe one day and enjoying the water.

Her life, she realized, had taken on a strange simplicity since she'd moved there. Though she sometimes missed the quiet nights back home, she had to admit that speeding up had its benefits. During the summer, she'd spent long hours browsing through the antique stores downtown or simply staring at the sailboats docked on the lake. Even now that school had started again, despite the bustling city life, she didn't rush anywhere. She worked and walked, and aside from visiting her parents - who lived just outside the city limits - she spent most of her evenings alone, listening to classical music and reworking the lesson plans she'd brought with her from home. And that was fine with her.

Since she was new to the school, her plans still needed a little tinkering. She'd discovered that many of the students in her class weren't as far along as they should have been in most of the core subjects. She had to scale down the lessons and incorporate more modified work. She hadn't been surprised by this; every school progressed at a different rate. But she figured that by the end of the year, most students would be where they needed to be. There was, however, one student who particularly concerned her.

Jonah Bing.

He was a nice enough kid: shy and unassuming, the kind of child who was easy to overlook. On the first day of class, he'd sat in the back row and answered politely when she'd spoken to him, but working in Saratoga had taught her to pay close attention to such children. Sometimes it meant nothing; at other times, it meant they were trying to hide. After she'd asked the class to hand in their first assignment, she'd made a mental note to check his work carefully. It hadn't been necessary.

The assignment - a short paragraph about something they'd done that summer - was a way for Monica to quickly gauge how well the children could write. Most of the pieces had the usual assortment of misspelled words, incomplete thoughts, and sloppy handwriting, but Jonah's had stood out, simply because he hadn't done what she'd asked. He'd written his name in the top corner, but instead of writing a paragraph, he'd drawn a picture of himself fishing from a small boat. When she'd questioned him about why he hadn't done what she'd asked, Jonah had explained that Mrs. Hayes had always let him draw, because "my writing isn't too good."

Alarm bells immediately went off in her head. She'd smiled and bent down, in order to be closer to him. "Can you show me?" she'd asked. After a long moment, Jonah had nodded, reluctantly.

While the other students went on to another activity, Monica sat with Jonah as he tried his best. She quickly realized it was pointless; Jonah didn't know how to write. Later that day, she found out he could barely read as well. In arithmetic, he wasn't any better. If she'd been forced to guess his grade, having never met him, she would have thought Jonah was just beginning kindergarten.

Her first thought was that Jonah had a learning disability, something like dyslexia. But after spending a week with him, she didn't believe that was the case. He didn't mix up letters or words, he understood everything she was telling him. Once she showed him something, he tended to do it correctly from that point on. His problem, she believed, stemmed from the fact that he'd simply never had to do his schoolwork before, because his teachers hadn't required it.

When she asked a couple of the other teachers about it, she learned about Jonah's mother, and though she was sympathetic, she knew it wasn't in anyone's best interest, especially Jonah's, to simply let him slide; as his previous teachers had done. At the same time, she couldn't give Jonah all the attention he needed because of the other students in her class. In the end, she decided to meet with Jonah's father to talk to him about what she knew, in hopes that they could find a way to work it out.

She'd heard about Chandler Bing.

Not much, but she knew that people for the most part both liked and respected him and that more than anything, he seemed to care about his son. That was good. Even in the little while she'd been teaching, she'd met parents who didn't seem to care about their children, regarding them as more of a burden than a blessing, and she'd also met parents who seemed to believe their child could do no wrong. Both were impossible to deal with. Chandler Bing, people said, wasn't that way.

At the next corner, Monica finally slowed down, then waited for a couple of cars to pass. She crossed the street, waved to the man behind the counter of her apartment building, and grabbed the mail before making her way up the stairs. After unlocking the door, she quickly scanned the mail and then set it on the table by the door. It was then that she saw the blinking light on the answering machine. She hit the play button before walking back to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of ice water. When she carried the glass to her bedroom is when her mother's voice came on, telling Monica that she was welcome to stop by later, if she had nothing else going on. As usual, her voice sounded slightly anxious.

She was undressing, tossing her cloths in the hamper and looking forward to a cool shower, when she looked over at the picture on her night stand. It was a picture of her family: Ross and Monica in the middle, Jack and Judy on either end. In the living room, the machine clicked and there was a second message, also from her mother: "Oh, I thought you'd be home by now...," it began. "I hope everything's all right..."

Should she call or not? Was she in the mood? She had a good relationship with her parents, but sometimes their conversations would last into the night.

Why not? she finally decided. I've got nothing else to do anyway.

* * *

Authors Note

This story is way different than any other story I've posted. But I hope you guys will stick with me and see where I take these characters. It'll pick up in a few chapters, but if you know my writing you know how much I love detail so I can't promise that will be any different.

If you have any ideas or suggestions on what you want to see and where you want these characters to go, please don't hesitate to comment your thoughts. I'm always opened to fresh ideas!


	3. Chapter 3

Chandler Bing made his way down an old narrow, winding road that ran along both the river and the woods from downtown Manhattan to Westchester. It looked abandoned as he drove potholes and swerved from fallen trees. He was on his way to the former country home and burial plot of a northern hero who'd signed the Declaration of Independence. During the Civil War, Union soldiers retrieved the body from the grave and posted his skull on an iron gate as a warning to citizens not to trespass. When he was a child, that story had kept Chandler from wanting to go anywhere near the place.

Despite its beauty and relative isolation, the road he was following wasn't for children. Heavy, fully loaded trucks rumbled over it day and night, and the drivers tended to underestimate the curves. As a homeowner in one of the communities just off the road, Chandler had been trying to lower the speed limit for years.

No one, except for Kathy, had listened to him.

This road always made him think of her.

Chandler tapped out another cigarette, lit it, then rolled down the window. As the warm air blew in the car, simple snapshots of the life they'd lived together surfaced in his mind; but as always, those images led to their final day together.

Ironically, he'd been gone most of the day, a Sunday. Chandler had gone fishing with Joey. He'd left the house early that morning, and though both he and Joey came home with mahi-mahi that day, it wasn't enough to appease his wife. Kathy, her face smudged with dirt, put her hands on her hips and glared at him the moment he got home. She didn't say anything at all, but then again, she didn't have to. The way she looked at him spoke volumes.

Her brother and sister-in-law were coming in from Atlanta the following day, and she'd been working around the house, trying to get it ready for guests. Jonah was in bed with the flu, which didn't make it any easier, since she'd had to take care of him as well. But that wasn't the reason for her anger; Chandler himself had been the cause.

Though she'd said that she wouldn't mind if Chandler went fishing, she _had_ asked him to take care of the yard-work on Saturday so she wouldn't have to worry about it on top of everything else. Work, however, had intervened, and instead of calling Joey to reschedule their annual trip, Chandler had elected to go out on Sunday anyway. Joey had teased him on and off all day - "You'll be sleeping on the couch tonight" - and Chandler knew Joey was probably right. But yard-work was yard-work and fishing was fishing, and for the life of him, Chandler knew that neither Kathy's brother nor his wife would care in the slightest whether there were a few too many weeds growing in the garden.

Besides, he had told himself, he would take care of everything when he got back, and he meant it. He hadn't intended to be gone all day, but like many of his fishing trips, one thing led to another and he'd lost track of time. Still, he had his speech worked out - _Don't worry, I'll take care of everything, even if it takes the rest of the night and I would need a flashlight to see._ It might have worked, too, had he told her his plans before he'd slipped out of bed that morning. But he hadn't, and by the time he got home she'd done most of the work. The yard was mowed, the walkway was edged, she'd planted some pansies around the mailbox. It must have taken hours, and to say she was angry was an understatement. Even furious wasn't sufficient. It was somewhere beyond that, the difference between a lit match and a blazing forest fire, and he knew it. He'd seen the look a few times in the years they'd been married, but only a few. He swallowed, thinking. Here we go.

"Hey, hon," he had said sheepishly, "sorry that I'm so late. We just lost track of time." Just as he was getting ready to start his speech, Kathy turned around and spoke over her shoulder.

"I'm going for a jog. You _can_ take care of this, can't you?" She'd been getting ready to blow the grass off the walkway and drive; the blower was sitting on the lawn.

Chandler knew enough not to respond.

After she'd gone inside to change, Chandler got the cooler from the back of the car and brought it to the kitchen. He was still putting his catch of the day in the refrigerator when Kathy came out from the bedroom.

"I was just putting the fish away...," he started, and Kathy clenched her jaw.

"What about doing what I asked you?"

"I'm going to - just let me finish here so this won't spoil."

Kathy rolled her eyes. "Just forget it. I'll do it when I get back."

The tone. Chandler couldn't stand that.

"I'll do it," he said. "I said I would, didn't I?"

"Just like you'd finish the lawn before you went out fishing?"

He should have just bitten his lip and kept quiet. Yes, he'd spent the day fishing instead of working around the house; yes, he'd let her down. But in the whole scheme of things, it wasn't _that_ big of a deal, was it? It was just her brother and sister-in-law, after all. It wasn't as if the president were coming. There wasn't any reason to be irrational about the whole thing.

Yep, he should have kept quiet. Judging from the way she looked at him after he'd said it, he would have been better off. When she slammed the door on her way out, Chandler heard the windows rattle.

Once she'd been gone a little while, however, he knew he'd been wrong, and he regretted what he'd done. He'd been a jerk, and she was right to have called him on it.

He wouldn't, however, get the chance to say he was sorry.

XXX

"Still smoking, huh?"

Joey Tribbiani, his partner in crime, looked across the table at his friend just as Chandler took his place at the table.

"I don't smoke," Chandler answered quickly.

Joey raised his hands. "I know, I know - you've already told me that. Hey, it's fine with me if you want to delude yourself. But I'll make sure to put the ashtrays out when you come by anyway. You know, for the birds."

Chandler laughed. Joey was one of the few people in town who still treated him the same way he always had. They'd been friends for years; Joey was the one who suggested Chandler become a deputy sheriff. As soon as he completed his training, Joey was right there to elect him partner in the Manhattan department. He was the same age, although, his hair not as thin as Chandlers. He'd put on a few pounds in the past few years; Chandler warned him to lay off the donuts. Joey wasn't the type of sheriff who intimidated people on sight, but he was perceptive and diligent and had a way of getting the answers he needed. In the last three elections, no one had even bothered to run against him.

"I won't be coming by," Chandler said, "unless you stop making these ridiculous accusations."

They were sitting at a booth in the corner, and the waitress, the most experienced when it came to a lunchtime crowd, dropped off a pitcher of sweet tea and two glasses of ice on her way to the next table. Chandler poured the tea and pushed Joey's glass towards him.

"Rachel will be disappointed," Joey said. "You know she starts going through withdrawals if you don't bring Jonah by every now and then." He took a sip from the glass. "So, you looking forward to meeting with Monica today?"

"Who?"

"Jonah's teacher."

"Did your wife tell you that?"

Joey smirked. Rachel worked at the school in the principal's office and seemed to know everything that went on over there. "Of course."

"What's her name again?"

"Rachel," Joey said seriously.

Chandler looked across the table, and Joey feigned a look of sudden comprehension. "Oh - you mean the teacher? Monica. Monica Geller."

Chandler took a drink. "Is she a good teacher?" he asked.

"I guess so. Rachel says she's great and that the kids adore her, but then again, Rachel thinks everyone is great." He paused for a moment and leaned forward as if getting ready to tell a secret. "But she did say that Monica was attractive. A real look, if you know what I mean."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"She also said that she was single."

"And?"

"And nothing." Joey ripped open a packet of sugar and added it to his already sweetened tea. He shrugged. "I'm just letting you know what Rachel said."

"Well, good," Chandler said. "I appreciate that. I don't know how I could have made it through the day without Rachel's latest evaluation."

"Oh, take it easy, man. You know she's always on the lookout for you."

"Tell her that I'm doing fine."

"Hell, I know that. But Rache worries about you. She knows you smoke, too, you know."

"So are you just gonna sit around busting my chops or did you have another reason you wanted to meet?"

"Actually, I did. But I had to get you in the right frame of mind so you don't blow your stack."

"What are you talking about?"

As he asked, the waitress dropped off two plates of barbecue with coleslaw and hush puppies on the side, their usual order, and Joey used that moment to collect his thoughts. He added more sauce to the barbecue and some pepper to his coleslaw. After deciding there was no easy way to say it, he just came out with it.

"Gary Wellman decided to drop the charges against Otis Timson."

Gary Wellman was the district attorney in Manhattan. Kind of tall, curly red hair, held all the major court cases in town. He'd spoken with Joey earlier that morning and had offered to tell Chandler, but Joey had decided it would probably be better if he handled it himself.

Chandler looked up from his plate. "What?"

"He didn't have a case. The guy who filed the lawsuit suddenly got a case of amnesia about what happened."

"But I was there-"

"You got there after it happened. You didn't _see_ it."

"But I saw the blood. I saw the broken chair and table in the middle of the bar. I saw the crowd that had gathered."

"I know, I know. But what was Gary supposed to do? The guy swore up and down that he just fell over and that Otis never touched him. He said he'd been confused that night, but now that his mind was clear, he remembered everything."

Chandler suddenly lost his appetite, and pushed his plate off to the side. "If I went down there again, I'm sure that I could find someone who saw what happened."

Joey shook his head. "I know how much this case means to you, but what good would it do? You know how many of Otis's brothers were there that night. They'd have his back, and who knows, maybe they were the ones who actually did it. But without a testimony, Gary didn't have anything. Besides, you know Otis. He'll do something else, just give him time."

"That's what I'm worried about."

Chandler and Otis Timson had a long history between them. The bad blood started when Chandler had first become a deputy eight years earlier. He'd arrested Clyde Timson, Otis's father, for assault when he'd thrown his wife through the screen door on their mobile home. Clyde had spent time in prison for that - though not as long as he should have - and over the years, five of his six sons had spent time in prison with offenses ranging from drug dealing to assault to car theft.

To Chandler, Otis posed the greatest danger simply because he was the smartest.

He suspected Otis was more than the petty criminal that the rest of his family was. For one thing, he didn't look the part. Unlike his brothers, he shied away from tattoos and kept his hair cut short; there were times he actually held down odd jobs, doing manual labor. He didn't look like a criminal, but looks were deceiving. His name was loosely linked with various crimes, and townspeople frequently speculated that it was him who directed the flow of drugs into town, though Chandler had no way to prove that.

Otis was always one to hold onto a grudge, too.

He didn't fully understand that until after Jonah was born. He'd arrested three of Otis's brothers after a riot had broken out at their family reunion. A week after that, Kathy was rocking four-month-old Jonah in the living room when a brick came crashing through the window. It nearly hit them, and a piece of glass cut Jonah's cheek. Though he couldn't prove it, Chandler knew that Otis was behind it.

In the end, no charges were brought for lack of evidence. Chandler was furious, and after the Timsons were released, he confronted Gary Wellman outside his office. They argued and nearly came to blows before Chandler finally gave up trying.

In the following years, there were other things: gunshots fired nearby, a mysterious fire in Chandler's garage, incidents that were more likely adolescent pranks. But again, without witnesses, there was nothing Chandler could do. Since Kathy's death it had been relatively quiet.

Until the latest arrest.

Joey glanced up from his food, his expression serious. "Listen, you and I both know he's guilty as hell, but don't even think about handling this on your own. You don't want this thing to escalate like it did before. You've got Jonah to think about now, and you're not always there to watch out for him."

Chandler looked out the window as Joey went on.

"Look, he'll do something stupid again, and if there's a case, I'll be the first to come down on him. You know that. But don't go looking for trouble, he's bad news. It's best you stay away from him."

Chandler still didn't respond.

"Let it go, you got that?" Joey was speaking not simply as a friend, but as Chandler's partner as well.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I just told you why."

Chandler looked at him closely. "But there's something else, isn't there."

Joey held Chandler's gaze for a long moment. "Look...Otis says you got a little rough when you arrested him, and he filed a complaint-"

Chandler slammed his hand against the table, the noise vibrating throughout the cafe. People at the next table jumped and turned, but Chandler didn't care.

"That's crap-"

Joey raised his hands to stop him. "Hell, I know that, and I told Gary that, too, and Gary isn't gonna do anything with it. But you and him aren't exactly best friends, and he knows what you're like when you get worked up. Even though he's not gonna press it, he thinks it's possible that Otis is telling the truth and he told me to tell you to lay off."

"So what am I supposed to do if I see Otis committing a crime? Look the other way?"

"Hell, no. Don't be stupid. I'd come down on you if you did that. Just keep your distance for a while, until all this blows over. I'm telling you this for your own good, okay?"

It took a moment before Chandler finally sighed. "Fine."

Even as he spoke, however, he knew that him and Otis weren't finished with one another yet.

* * *

Authors note: I needed to add something interesting. So I came up with a criminal. He'll be mentioned throughout the story but don't worry, it's still heavily focused on Mondler, just be patient and they'll meet soon ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, we need to move this story along...

* * *

Three hours after meeting with Joey, Chandler pulled into a parking space in front of Harbor Elementary School just as classes were being dismissed. School buses began filling up with students before making their way towards town, clustering in groups of four or six. Chandler saw Jonah at the same time his son saw him. Jonah waved happily and ran towards the car; Chandler knew that in a few more years, once adolescence settled in, Jonah wouldn't do that anymore.

He leapt into his open arms and Chandler squeezed him tight, enjoying the closeness while he could.

"Hey, champ, how was school?"

Jonah pulled back. "It was fine. How's work?"

"It's better now that I'm done."

"Did you arrest anyone today?"

Chandler shook his head. "Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Listen, do you want to get some ice cream after I finish up here?"

Jonah nodded enthusiastically and Chandler put him down. "Fair enough. We'll do that." He crouched down and met his son's eyes. "Do you think you'll be okay on the playground while I talk to your teacher? Or do you want to wait inside?"

"I'm not a little kid anymore, Dad. Besides, Mark has to stay, too. His mom's at the doctor's office."

Chandler looked up and saw Jonah's best friend waiting impatiently near a basketball hoop. While he had the chance, Chandler tucked Jonah's shirt back in before he could run off.

"Well, you two stay together, okay? And don't go wondering, either of you."

"We won't."

"Alright then, be careful."

Jonah handed his father his backpack and scrambled off. Chandler tossed it onto the front seat and started through the parking lot, weaving his way around other cars. A few kids shouted greetings, as did some mothers who drove their kids home. Chandler stopped and visited with some of them, waiting until the commotion outside finally began to die down. Once the buses were on their way and most of the cars were gone, the teachers headed back inside. Chandler took one last glance in Jonah's direction before following them into the school.

As soon as he entered the building, he was hit with a blast of hot air. The school was nearly forty years old, and though the cooling system had been replaced more than once over the years, it wasn't up to the task during the first few weeks of school; trying to make up for the heat that had settled during the summer. Chandler could feel himself begin to sweat almost immediately, and he tugged at the front of his shirt, fanning himself as he made his way down the hallway. Jonah's classroom, he knew; was in the far corner. But when he got there, the room was empty.

For a moment he thought he'd entered the wrong room, but the children's names on the roll sheet confirmed he was where he was supposed to be. He checked his watch and, realized he was a couple of minutes early, wandered around the classroom. He saw some work scribbled on the chalkboard, the desks arranged in orderly rows, a rectangular table cluttered with construction paper and Elmer's Glue. Along the far wall were a few short compositions, and Chandler was looking for Jonah's when he heard a voice behind him.

"Sorry I'm late. I was dropping off a few things at the office." It was then that Chandler saw Monica Geller for the first time.

In that instant, no shivers pricked the hairs on the back of his neck, no burst of exploding fireworks; he felt no sense of being smitten at all. He would, however, admit the fact that Joey had been right: She _was_ attractive. Not glamorous in a high-maintenance way, but definitely a woman whose passing would cause men to turn their heads. Her dark hair was cut cleanly just past the shoulders in a style that looked both elegant and manageable. She wore a long skirt and a yellow blouse, and though her face was flushed from heat, her blue eyes seemed to radiate a freshness, as if she'd just spent the day relaxing at the beach.

"That's okay," he finally said. "I was a little early anyway."

As he spoke, Monica's eyes briefly flickered downward toward his holster. Chandler had seen the look before, a look of apprehension. Monica noticed him noticing her staring, and immediately apologized. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. No harm done." He assured her.

"I just, I didn't know you were a cop." After she said it, she regretted it. It came out in a way that told him she doubted someone with his kind of build actually pursuing such a noble profession. "Wow, I uh, I didn't mean it like that. Let me start over." She met his eyes and smiled softly "So you're in Law Enforcement. That sounds like very important work." She shook her head, embarrassed. "No, that wasn't much better..." She trailed off.

Chandler chuckled and held out his hand. "I'll start. I'm Chandler Bing."

She took his hand, grateful he didn't comment on her poor execution of small talk. "Monica Geller. The one that does a horrible job at managing a conversation. That's why I teach the little humans." She flushed. "Anyway, I'm glad you could make it in today. I remembered after I sent the note home that I hadn't offered you the chance to reschedule if today was inconvenient for you."

"It wasn't a problem. My partner was able to cover for me."

She nodded, holding his gaze. "Joey Tribbiani, right? I've met his wife, Rachel. She's been helping me get the hang of things around here."

"Be careful - she'll talk your ear off if you give her the chance."

Monica laughed. "So I've realized. But she's been great, she really has. It's always a little intimidating when you're new, but she's gone out of her way to make me feel as if I belong here."

"She's a sweet lady."

For a moment, neither of them said anything as they stood close together, and Chandler immediately sensed that she wasn't as comfortable now that the small talk was out of the way. She moved around the desk, looking as if she were ready to get down to business. She began shuffling papers, scanning through the piles, searching for what she needed. Outside, the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, the temperature instantly seemed to rise, and Chandler tugged at his shirt again; not going unnoticed by Monica.

"I know it's hot...I've been meaning to bring a fan in, but I haven't had the chance to pick one up, yet."

"I'll be fine." Even as he said it, he could feel the sweat beginning to trickle down his chest and back.

"Well, I'll give you a couple of options. You can pull up a chair and we can talk here and maybe we both pass out, or we can do this outside where it's a little cooler. There are picnic tables in the shade."

"Would that be okay?"

"If you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind at all. Besides, Jonah's out on the playground and that way I can keep an eye on him."

She nodded. "Good. Just let me make sure I have everything..."

A minute later they left the classroom, headed down the hall, and pushed open the door.

"So how long have you been in town?" Chandler finally asked.

"Since June."

"How do you like it?"

She looked over at him. "It's kind of loud, but it's nice."

"Where'd you move from?"

"Saratoga Springs. I grew up there, but..." She paused. "I needed a change."

Chandler nodded. "I can understand that. Sometimes I feel like getting away, too."

Her face registered a kind of recognition as soon as he said it, and Chandler knew immediately that she'd heard about Kathy. She didn't say anything, however.

As they seated themselves at the picnic table, Chandler stole a good look at her. Up close, with the sun slanting through the shade trees, her skin looked smooth, almost luminescent. Monica Geller, he decided on the spot, never had pimples as a teenager.

"So...," he said, "should I call you Miss Geller?"

"No, Monica's fine."

"Okay, Monica..." He stopped, and after a moment Monica finished for him.

"You're wondering why I needed to talk to you?"

"It had crossed my mind."

Monica glanced toward the folder in front of her, then up again. "Well, let me start by telling you how much I enjoy having Jonah in class. He's a wonderful boy - he's always the first to volunteer if I ever need anything, and he's really good to the other students as well. He's also polite and extremely well spoken for his age."

Chandler looked her over carefully. "Why do I get the impression that you're leading up to some bad news?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"Well...sort of," Chandler admitted, and Monica gave a sheepish laugh.

"I'm sorry, but I did want you to know that it's not all bad. Tell me - has Jonah mentioned anything to you about what's going on?"

"Not until breakfast this morning. When I asked him why you wanted to meet with me, he just said that he's having trouble with some of the work."

"I see." She paused for a moment, as if trying to collect her thoughts.

"You're making me a little nervous here," Chandler finally said. "You don't think there's a serious problem, do you?"

"Well..." She hesitated. "I hate to have to tell you this, but I think there is. Jonah isn't having trouble with some of the work. Jonah's having trouble with _all_ of the work."

Chandler frowned. "All of it?"

"Jonah," she said evenly, "is behind in reading, writing, spelling, and math - just about everything. To be honest, I don't think he was ready for the second grade."

Chandler simply stared at her, not knowing what to say. Monica went on. "I know this is hard for you to hear. Believe me, I wouldn't want to hear it, either, if it was my son. That's why I wanted to make sure before I talked to you about it. Here..."

Monica opened the folder and handed Chandler a stack of papers. Jonah's work. Chandler glanced through the pages - two math tests without a single correct answer, a couple of pages where the assignment had been to write a paragraph (Jonah had managed a few, illegibly scrambled words), and three short reading tests that Jonah had failed as well. After a long moment, she slid the folder to Chandler.

"You can keep all that. I'm finished with it."

"I'm not sure I want it," he said, still in shock.

Monica leaned forward slightly. "Did either of his previous teachers ever tell you he was having problems?"

"No, never."

"Nothing?"

Chandler looked away. Across the yard, he could see Jonah going down the slide on the playground, Mark right behind him. He brought his hands together.

"Jonah's mom died right before he started kindergarten. I knew that Jonah used to put his head down on his desk and cry sometimes, and we were all concerned about that. But his teachers didn't say anything about his work. His report cards said he was doing fine. It's been this way for years."

"Did you check the work he'd bring home from school?"

"He never had any. Except for projects he'd made."

Now, of course, it sounded ridiculous, even to him. Why hadn't he noticed it before?

Chandler sighed, angry with himself, angry with the school. Monica seemed to read his mind.

"I know you're wondering how this could have happened, and you've got every right to be upset. Jonah's teachers had a responsibility to teach him, but they didn't. I'm sure it wasn't done out of pity - it probably started because no one wanted to push him too hard."

Chandler considered that for a long moment. "This is just _great,"_ he muttered.

"Look," Monica said, "I didn't bring you here just to give you bad news. If I did only that, then I'd be neglecting _my_ responsibility. I wanted to talk to you about the best way to help Jonah. I don't want to hold him back this year, and with a little extra effort, I don't think I'll have to. He still has time to catch up."

It took a while for that to sink in, and when he looked up, Monica nodded.

"Jonah is very intelligent. Once he learns something, he remembers it. He just needs a little more work than I can give him in class."

"So what does that mean?"

"He needs help after school."

"Like a tutor?"

Monica smoothed her long skirt. "Getting a tutor is one idea, but it can get expensive, especially when you consider that Jonah needs help in learning the basics. We're not talking algebra here - right now we're doing single-digit addition, like three plus two. And as far as reading goes, he just needs to spend some time practicing. Same thing with writing, he just needs to do it. Unless you've got money to burn, it would probably be better if you do it."

"Me?"

"It's not all that hard. You read with him, have him read to you, help him with his assignments, things like that. I don't think you'll have any problem with anything that I've assigned."

"You didn't see my report cards as a kid."

Monica smiled before going on. "A set schedule, too, would probably help. I've learned that kids remember things best when there's a routine involved. And besides, a routine usually ensures that you're consistent, and that's what Jonah needs most of all."

Chandler adjusted himself in his seat. "That's not as easy as it sounds. My schedule varies. Sometimes I'm home at four, other times I don't get home until Jonah's already in bed."

"Who watches him after school?"

"Mrs. Peterson, our neighbor. She's great, but I don't know if she'd be up to doing schoolwork with him every day. She's in her eighties."

"What about someone else? A grandparent or someone like that?"

Chandler shook his head. "Kathy's parents moved to Florida after she died, so they're not around. My father took off when I was in high school, half the time I don't know where he is. My mother is always on tour, I haven't seen much of her since I finished college. Jonah and I have been pretty much on our own for the last couple of years. Don't get me wrong - he's a great kid, and sometimes I feel lucky to have him all to myself. But other times, I can't help but think it would have been easier if Kathy's parents had stayed in town, or if my mother were a little more available."

"For something like this, you mean?"

"Exactly," he answered, and Monica laughed again. He liked the sound of it. There was an innocent ring to it, the kind he associated with children who had yet to realize that the world wasn't simply fun and games.

"At least you're taking this seriously," Monica said. "I can't tell you how many times I've had this conversation with parents who either didn't want to believe it or wanted to blame me."

"Does that happen a lot?"

"More than you can imagine. Before I sent the note home, I even talked to Rachel about the best way to tell you."

"What did she say?"

"She told me not to worry, that you wouldn't overreact. That first and foremost, you'd be worried about Jonah and that you'd be open to what I was telling you. Then she told me that I shouldn't worry one little bit, even if you did have a gun with you."

Chandler looked horrified. "She didn't."

"She did. She didn't mention the gun was for work, though."

"I'm going to have to talk to her."

"No, don't - it was obvious that she was kidding. She's fun." Monica raised her eyebrows in a joking manner.

"Rachel likes to mess with everyone."

At that moment, Chandler heard Jonah yelling for Mark to chase him. Despite the heat, the two boys raced through the playground, whipping around some poles before spinning off in another direction.

"I can't believe how much energy they have," Monica marveled. "They did the same thing at lunch today."

"Believe me, I know. I can't remember the last time I felt that way."

"Oh, come on, you're not that old. You're what - forty, forty-five?" Chandler looked horrified again, and Monica winked. "Just teasing," she added.

Chandler wiped his brow in mock relief, surprised to find himself enjoying the conversation. For some reason, it seemed almost as if she were flirting, and he liked that, more than he thought he should.

"Thanks - I think."

"No problem," she answered, trying and failing to hide the smirk on her face. "But now..." She paused. "Where were we again?"

"You were telling me that I haven't aged well."

"Before that...oh, yeah, we were talking about your schedule and you were telling me how impossible it was going to be to get a routine going."

"I didn't say impossible. It's just not going to be easy."

"When are you off in the afternoons?"

"Usually on Wednesdays and Fridays."

As Chandler tried to work it out, Monica seemed to come to a decision. "Now, I don't usually do this, but I'll make a deal with you," she said slowly. "If it's okay with you, of course."

Chandler raised his eyebrows. "What kind of deal?"

"I'll work with Jonah after school the other three days a week if you promise to do the same on the two days you're off."

He couldn't hide the surprise in his expression. "You'd do that?"

"Not for every student, no. But as I said, Jonah's sweet, and he's had a rough time the last couple of years. I'd be glad to help."

"Really?"

"Don't look so surprised. Most teachers are pretty dedicated to their work. Besides, I'm usually here until four o'clock anyway, so it won't be much trouble at all."

When Chandler didn't answer right away, Monica fell silent.

"I'm only going to offer this once, so take it or leave it," she finally said.

Chandler looked almost embarrassed. "Thank you," he said seriously. "I can't even tell you how much I appreciate this."

"My pleasure. There's one thing I'm going to need, though, so I can do this right. Think of it as my fee."

"What's that?"

"A fan - and make it a good one." She nodded toward the school. "It's like an oven in there."

"You got yourself a deal."

Twenty minutes later, after she and Chandler had said good-bye, Monica was back in the classroom. As she was collecting her things, she found herself thinking about Jonah and how best to help him. It was a good thing that she'd made the offer, she told herself. It would keep her more focused on his abilities in class, and she'd be able to better guide Chandler when he was working with his son. True, it was a little extra work, but it was the best thing for Jonah, even if she hadn't planned on it. And she hadn't - not until she'd said the words.

She was still trying to figure out why she'd done that.

Despite herself, she was also thinking about Chandler. He wasn't what she'd expected, that's for sure. When Rachel had told her that he was a single dad, she'd immediately pictured a polo wearing, high waisted slacks kind of guy. Someone that took the part of both parents and oiled his balding head. She thought of him as overweight and wore socks with sandals. She'd imagined him squeaky clean walking into her classroom, tightening his belt and saying. _Now, what did you want to talk to me about, young lady?_ But Chandler was none of those things.

He was attractive, too. Not as Pete had been - dark and glamorous, everything always perfectly in place - but appealing in a natural, more rugged way. His face had a roughness to it, as if he'd spent many hours in the sun as a boy. But contrary to what she'd said, he didn't look forty, and that had surprised her.

It shouldn't have. After all, Jonah was only seven, and she knew Kathy Bing had died young. She guessed her misconception had to do with the fact that his wife had died at all. She couldn't imagine that happening to someone her age. It wasn't right; it seemed out of sync with the natural order of the world.

Monica was still musing over this as she glanced around the room one last time, making sure she had everything she needed. She removed her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk, slipped it over her shoulder, put everything else under her other arm, and then turned off the lights on her way out.

As she walked to her car, she felt a pang of disappointment when she saw that Chandler had already left. She quickly reminded herself that a widower like Chandler would hardly be entertaining similar thoughts about his young son's schoolteacher.

Monica Geller had no idea how wrong she was.

* * *

Authors note

So how'd I do with their first encounter? Is it different, okay, too much? Let me know where you want this to go and I'll have an update posted soon!

For someone that had countless tutors growing up, it's hard. I definitely missed out on most of my childhood. I'm kind of writing myself into Jonah...although I never turned drawings in as a write-up. That I know of...


	5. Chapter 5

In the car, the memories of the day Kathy died came back to Chandler in bits and pieces, just as they had earlier before his lunch with Joey. Now, though, instead of running endlessly in the same loop, from his day spent fishing to the argument with Kathy and everything that followed, they were displaced by his thoughts of Jonah, and Monica Geller.

With his mind occupied, he didn't know how long they had driven in silence, but it was long enough to make Jonah nervous. As he waited for his father to speak, his mind began focusing on the possible punishments his father might inflict, each of them worse than the last. He kept zipping and unzipping his backpack until Chandler finally reached over and rested his hand on top of his son's in attempt to stop him. Still, his father said nothing, and after finally coming up with enough courage to speak, Jonah looked toward Chandler with wide eyes that were nearly brimming with tears.

"Am I in trouble, Dad?"

"No."

"You talked to Miss Geller for a long time."

"We had a lot to talk about."

Jonah swallowed. "Did you talk about school?"

Chandler nodded and Jonah looked towards his backpack again, feeling sick to his stomach and wishing he could keep his hands occupied again. "I'm in big trouble," he mumbled.

Chandler sighed, looked in his mirrors and quickly made a sharp turn; filling in an empty parking spot lining the main road, before putting it in park. He could hear Jonah sniffling in the back seat and turned to face him. "Hey," he spoke softly, gathering his sons attention. "I've had a long day. What do you say we go get some ice cream, now?"

Jonah's red face nodded slowly as he cleared his tears.

A few minutes later, they were sitting on a bench outside the Dairy Queen, Jonah was finishing an ice-cream cone, with his father's arm wrapped around him. They'd been talking for ten minutes, and at least as far as Jonah was concerned, it wasn't half as bad as he'd thought it would be. His father hadn't yelled, he hadn't threatened him, and best of all, he hadn't been grounded. Instead, Chandler had simply asked Jonah about his previous teachers and what they had, and hadn't, made him do; Jonah explained honestly that once he'd fallen behind, he was too embarrassed to ask for help. They'd talked about the things Jonah was having trouble with - as Monica had said, it was practically everything - and Jonah promised that he'd do his best from now on. Chandler, too, said that he'd help Jonah and that if everything went well, he'd be caught up in no time. All in all, Jonah considered himself lucky.

What he didn't realize was that his father wasn't finished yet.

"But because you're so far behind," Chandler went on calmly, "you're going to have to stay after school a few days a week, so Miss Geller can help you out."

It took a moment for the words to register, and then Jonah looked up at his father.

"After school?"

Chandler nodded. "She said you'd catch up faster that way."

"I thought you said that you were going to help me."

"I am, but I can't do it every day. I have to work, so Miss Geller said she'd help, too."

"But after school?" he asked again, a note of pleading in his voice.

"Three days a week."

"But...Dad..." He tossed the rest of the ice-cream cone into the garbage. "I don't want to stay after school."

"I didn't ask if you wanted to. And besides, you could have told me you were having trouble before. If you'd done that, you might have been able to avoid something like this."

Jonah furrowed his brow. "But, Dad..."

"Listen, I know there's a million things you'd rather do, but you're gonna do this for a while. You don't have a choice, and just think, it could be worse."

"Howww?" he asked, sort of singing the last syllable, the way he always did when he didn't want to believe what Chandler was telling him.

"Well, she could have wanted to work with you on the weekends, too. If that had happened, you wouldn't have been able to play soccer."

Jonah leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands. "Alright," he finally said with a sigh, looking defeated. "I'll do it."

Chandler smiled, thinking, _You didn't have a choice_.

"I appreciate that, champ."

Later that night, Chandler was leaning over Jonah's bed, pulling up the covers. his eyes were heavy, and Chandler ran his hand through his son's hair before kissing his cheek.

"It's late. Get some sleep."

He looked so small in his bed, so content. Chandler made sure that Jonah's night-light was on, then reached for the lamp by the bed. He forced his eyes open, though one look said they wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for not being too mad at me today."

Chandler smiled. "You're welcome."

"And Dad?"

"Yeah?"

Jonah reached up to wipe his nose. Next to his pillow was a teddy bear Kathy had given him when he'd turned three. He still slept with it every night.

"I'm glad Miss Geller wants to help me."

"You are?" he asked, surprised.

"She's nice."

Chandler turned out the light. "I thought so, too. Now get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay. And Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Chandler felt a tightness in his throat. "I love you, too, Jonah."

Hours later, just before four A.M., Jonah woke up screaming.

Like the wail of someone being murdered, his scream immediately jolted Chandler awake. He quickly staggered half-blindly from his bedroom, nearly stubbing his toe on the corner of his dresser in the process. Still trying to focus on staying awake, he scooped the still-sleeping boy in his arms. Chandler began whispering to him as he carried him through the house and to the back porch. It was, he'd learned, the only place that would ever calm him down. The sound of nature, the moisture in the early morning air, the smells, was all the solution to his nightmares. Within moments the sobbing dropped to a whimper, and Chandler was thankful that he never got complaints from his neighbors for the screams coming from Jonah so late in the night.

In the foggy humid air, Chandler rocked Jonah back and forth, continuing to whisper in his ear. The moon was full, setting off a bright reflecting glow on the river at the edge of his yard. The crickets talked back and forth as the wind blew through the leafs of the giant oak trees lining the water. Nothing felt more relaxing than this moment.

By the time Jonah's breathing had fallen into deep, regular patterns again, it was nearly five A.M. and Chandler knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. Instead, after putting Jonah back in bed, he went in the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Sitting at the table, he rubbed his eyes and his face, getting the blood flowing through his body again. When he had the energy to open his eyes, he looked up. Outside the kitchen window, the sky began to glow with blues and pink on the horizon, the trees delicately shinning the morning light through the house.

Chandler found himself thinking about Monica Geller once more.

He was attracted to her, that much was certain. He hadn't reacted that strongly to a woman in what seemed like forever. He'd been attracted to Kathy, of course, but that was fifteen years ago. A lifetime ago. And it wasn't that he wasn't attracted to Kathy during the last few years of their marriage, because he was. It's just that the attraction seemed different, somehow. With Kathy, there weren't any surprises. He knew how she looked just after getting out of bed in the mornings, he'd seen the exhaustion sketched in every feature after giving birth to Jonah. He knew her - her feelings, her fears, the things she liked and didn't. But this attraction for Monica felt...new, and it made him feel new as well, as if anything were possible. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed that feeling.

But where would it go from here? That was the part he still wasn't sure about. He couldn't predict what, if anything, would happen with Monica. He didn't know anything about her; in the end, they might not be compatible at all. There are a thousand things that could doom a relationship, and he was aware of that.

Still, he'd been attracted to her...

Chandler shook his head, forcing the thought away. No reason to dwell on it, except for the reason that the attraction had once again reminded him that he wanted to start over. He wanted to find someone again; he didn't want to live the rest of his life alone. Some people could do that, he knew. But he couldn't accept the fact he found love and that was his chance, his time, and he'd never get it again. He loved being a husband, he loves being a father, he loved the stability that had come with all that, and he wanted to have it again.

But apart of him knew he can't feel this way. It can't lead anywhere. It wouldn't be fair to Jonah.

Chandler sighed and looked out the window again. More light started coming through the lower sky. He finally rose from the table, to go peek in on Jonah. Still asleep. He moved across the hall and pushed open the door to his own bedroom. In the shadows, he could see the pictures he'd had framed, sitting on top of his dresser and on the bed-stand. Though he couldn't make out the features, he didn't need to see them clearly to know what they were: Kathy sitting on the back porch, holding a bouquet of wildflowers; Kathy and Jonah, their faces close to the lens, grinning broadly; Kathy and Chandler walking down the aisle...

Chandler entered and sat on the bed. Next to the photo was the manila file filled with information he'd gathered himself, on his own time. Because sheriffs didn't have jurisdiction over traffic accidents. The reasons why this investigation didn't move forward is never ending. He'd followed in the footsteps of the highway patrol, interviewed the same people, asked the same questions, and scanned through the same information. But over the years, with all the information he'd gathered, there was no connection. And he had no answers. As it was months before, the file sat on the bed-stand, as if daring Chandler to find out who'd been driving the car that night.

But that didn't seem likely, not anymore, no matter how much Chandler wanted to punish the person who'd ruined his life. And let there be no mistake: That was exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to make the person pay dearly for what he'd done; it was his duty both as a husband and as someone sworn to uphold the law.

Now; as with most mornings, Chandler stared at the file without bothering to open it and found himself imagining the person who'd done it, running through the same scenarios he did every time, and always beginning with the same question.

If it was simply an accident, why run?

The only reason he could come up with was that the person was drunk, someone coming home from a party, or someone who made a habit of drinking too much every weekend. A man, probably, in his thirties or forties. Though there was no evidence to support that, that's whom he always pictured. In his mind's eye, Chandler could see him swerving from side to side as he made his way down the road, going too fast and jerking the wheel, his mind processing everything in slow motion. Maybe he was reaching for another beer, one sandwiched between his legs, just as he caught a glimpse of Kathy at the last second. Or maybe he didn't see her at all. .Maybe he just heard the thud and felt the car move with the impact. Even then, the driver didn't panic. There weren't any skid marks on the road, even though the driver had stopped the car to see what he had done. The evidence, as little as he had, showed that much.

The more time that goes by, the faster it fades away, the easier it is to get up in the mornings, the less it hurts to say her name.

No one else had seen anything. There were no other cars on the road, no porch lights flicked on, no one had been outside walking the dog or turning off the sprinklers. Even in his intoxicated state, the driver had known that Kathy was dead and that he'd be facing a manslaughter charge at the least, maybe second-degree murder if he'd had prior offenses. Criminal charges. Prison time. Life behind bars. These, and even more, frightening thoughts must have raced through his head, urging him to get out of there before anyone saw him. And he had, without ever bothering to consider the grief he'd left behind.

It was either that, or someone had run Kathy down on purpose.

Some sociopath who killed for the thrill of it. He'd heard of such people.

_Or killed to get back at Chandler Bing?_

He was a sheriff; he'd made enemies. He'd arrested people and testified against them. He'd helped send people to prison.

One of them?

The list was endless..

He sighed, finally opening the file, finding himself drawn to the pages.

There was one detail about the accident that didn't seem to fit, and over the years Chandler had scribbled half a dozen question marks around it. He had learned of it when he'd been taken to the scene of the accident.

Strangely, whoever had been driving the car had covered Kathy's body with a blanket.

This fact had never made the papers.

For a while, there were hopes that the blanket would provide some clues to the identity of the driver. It hadn't. It was a blanket typically found in emergency kits, the kind sold in a standard package with other assorted items at nearly every auto supply or department store across the country. There'd been no way to trace it.

But...why?

This was the part that continued to nag at Chandler.

Why cover up the body, then run? It made no sense. When he'd raised the matter with Joey, Joey had said something that haunted Chandler to this day: "It's like the driver was trying to apologize."

_Or throw us off track?_

Chandler didn't know what to believe.

But he would find the driver, no matter how unlikely it seemed, simply because he wouldn't give up. Then, and only then, could he imagine himself moving on.

* * *

AN: Hey everyone! I don't know if I should keep going with this fanfic. It seems too out of character for them and to be honest even I'm getting bored with all the detail I threw in there. I do have a lot written and I think I'm going to update until Thanksgiving, which is the chapter I wrote up to. Let me know what you think please! I want to hear your feedback.


	6. Chapter 6

On Friday evening, three days after meeting Chandler Bing, Monica was alone in her living room, nursing her second glass of wine, feeling about as rotten as a person could feel. Even though she knew the wine wouldn't help, she knew that she'd nonetheless pour herself a third glass just as soon as this one was finished. She'd never been a big drinker, but it had been that kind of day.

Right now, she just wanted to escape.

Strangely, it hadn't started off badly. She'd felt pretty good first thing in the morning and even during breakfast, but after that, the day had nose-dived rapidly. Sometime during the night before, the hot-water heater in her apartment stopped working and she'd had to take a cold shower before heading off to school. When she got there, three of the four students in the front of the class had colds and spent the day coughing and sneezing in her direction; when they weren't acting up. The rest of the class seemed to follow their lead, and she hadn't accomplished half of what she'd wanted to. After school, she'd stayed to catch up on some of her work, but when she was finally ready to head home, one of the tires on her car was flat. She'd had to call AAA and ended up waiting nearly an hour until they showed up; and by the time she got back to her apartment, the streets had been roped off for the Labor Day Festival that weekend and she'd had to park three blocks away. Then, to top it all off, no more than ten minutes after she'd walked in the door, an acquaintance had called from back home, to let her know that Pete was getting married again.

That was when she'd opened the wine.

Now, finally feeling the effects of the alcohol, Monica found herself wishing that AAA had taken a little longer with her tire, so she wouldn't have been home to answer the phone when it rang. She wasn't a close friend of the woman's - she'd socialized with Monica casually, since she'd originally been friends with Pete's family - and had no idea why the woman felt the urge to let Monica know what was going on. And even though she had passed on the information with the proper mix of sympathy and disbelief, Monica couldn't help suspecting that the woman would hang up the phone and immediately report back to Pete how Monica had responded.

Thank God she kept her composure.

But that was two glasses of wine ago, and now it wasn't so easy. She didn't want to hear about Pete. They were divorced, separated by law and choice, and unlike some divorced couples, they hadn't talked since their last meeting in the lawyer's office almost a year earlier. By that point, she'd considered herself lucky to be rid of him and had simply signed the papers without a word. The pain and anger had been replaced with a kind of detachment, a numbing realization that she'd never really known him at all. After that, he didn't call or write, nor did she. She lost contact with his family and friends, he showed no interest in hers. In many ways, it almost seemed as if they'd never been married at all. At least, that's what she told herself.

And now he was getting married again.

It shouldn't bother her. She shouldn't care one way or the other. But she did.

She'd known all along that Pete would marry again; he'd told her as much.

That was the first time she'd ever really hated someone.

But real hate, the kind that wasn't possible without an emotional bond. She wouldn't have hated Pete nearly as much unless she'd loved him first. They'd made their vows and promised to love each other forever, after all, and she'd descended from a long line of families that had done just that. Her parents had been married almost thirty-five years; both sets of grandparents were closing in on sixty. Even after their problems arose, Monica believed that she and Pete would follow in their footsteps. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but when he'd chosen the views of his family over his promise to her, she'd never felt so insignificant in her entire life.

But she shouldn't be upset now, if she was really over him...

Monica finished her glass and rose from the couch, not wanting to believe that, refusing to believe it. She was over him. If she came crawling back to her right now and begged for forgiveness, she wouldn't take him back. There was nothing he could say or do to ever make her love him again. He could marry whoever the hell he wanted, and it would make no difference to her.

In the kitchen, she poured her third glass of wine.

Pete was getting married again.

Despite herself, Monica felt the tears coming. She didn't want to cry anymore, but old dreams die hard. When she put her glass down, trying to compose herself, she set the glass too close to the sink and it toppled in, shattering instantly. She reached in to pick up the shards of glass, pricked her finger, and it began to bleed.

One more thing on an already terrible day.

She exhaled sharply and pressed the back of her hand against her eyes, willing herself not to cry.

XXX

"Are you sure you're okay?"

With crowds pressing in around them, the words seemed to fade in and out, as if Monica were trying to listen to something from a distance.

"For the third time, I'm fine, Mom. Really."

Judy reached up and brushed the hair from Monica's face. "It's just that you look a little pale, like you might be coming down with something."

"I'm a little tired, that's all. I was up late working."

Though she didn't like lying to her mother, Monica had no desire to tell her about the bottle of wine the night before. Her mother barely understood why people drank at all, especially women, and if Monica explained that she'd been alone as well, her mother would only bite her lip in worry before launching into a series of questions that Monica was in no mood to answer.

It was a glorious Saturday, and the downtown area was thronged with people. The Labor Day Festival was in full swing, and Judy had wanted to spend the day browsing among the booths and in the antique stores along street. Since Jack wanted to watch the baseball game between the Giants and the Mets, Monica had offered to keep her company. She'd thought it might be fun, and it probably would have been, if it hadn't been for the raging headache that even aspirin couldn't ease. As they talked, Monica inspected an antique picture frame that had been restored with care, through not enough to care to justify the price.

"On a Friday?" her mother asked.

"I'd been putting it off for a while and last night seemed as good as any."

Her mother leaned closer, pretending to admire the picture frame. "You were in all night?"

"Uh- huh. Why?"

"Because I called you a couple of times and the phone just rang and rang."

"I unplugged the phone."

"Oh. For a while there, I thought you might be out with someone."

"Who?"

Judy shrugged. "I don't know...someone."

Monica eyed her over the top of her sunglasses. "Mom, let's not get into that again."

"I'm not getting into anything," she answered defensively. Then, lowering her voice as if conversing with herself, she went on. "I just assumed you'd decided to go out. You used to do that a lot, you know..."

In addition to wallowing in a bottomless pit of concern, Monica's mother could also play to perfection the part of a guilt-ridden parent. There were times when Monica needed it, a little pity never hurt anyone, but now wasn't one of them. Monica frowned slightly as she set the frame back down. The proprietor of the booth, and elderly woman who sat in a chair beneath a large umbrella, raised her eyebrows, clearly enjoying the little scene. Monica's frown deepened. She backed away from the booth as her mom went on, and after a moment, Judy trailed after her.

"What's wrong?"

Her tone made Monica stop and face her mother. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just not in the mood to hear how worried you are about me. It gets old after a while."

Judy's mouth opened slightly and stayed that way. At the sight of her mother's injured expression, Monica regretted her words, but she couldn't help it. Not today, anyway.

"Look, I'm sorry, Mom. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

Judy reached out and took her daughter by the hand.

"What's going on, Monica? And tell me the truth, this time - I know you too well. Something happened, didn't it?"

She squeezed Monica's hand gently and Monica looked away. All around them, strangers were going about their business, lost in their own conversations.

"Pete's getting married again," she said quietly.

After making sure she had heard correctly, Judy slowly enveloped her daughter in a firm embrace. "Oh, Mon...I'm sorry," she whispered

There wasn't anything else to say.

A few minutes later, they were seated on a park bench that overlooked the lake, down the street from where the crowds were still congregated. They'd moved that way unconsciously; they'd simply walked until they could go no farther, then found a place to sit.

There, they talked for a long time, or rather Monica talked. Judy mainly listened, unable to mask the concern she felt. Her eyes widened and occasionally filled with tears; she squeezed Monica's hand a dozen times.

"Oh...that's just _terrible,"_ she said for what seemed like the hundredth time. "What a _terrible_ day."

"I thought so."

"Well...would it help if I told you to look on the bright side?"

"There is no bright side, Mom."

"Sure there is."

Monica raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Well, you can be certain that they won't live here after they get married. Your father would have them covered in tar and feathered."

Despite her mood, Monica laughed. "Thanks a lot. If I ever see him again, I'll be sure to let him know."

Judy paused. "You're not planning on that, are you? Seeing him, I mean."

Monica shook her head. "No, not unless I can't help it."

"Good. After what he did to you, you shouldn't."

Monica simply nodded before leaning back against the bench.

"So, have you heard from Ross lately?" she asked, changing the subject. "He's never in when I call."

Judy followed Monica's lead without complaint. "I talked to him a couple of days ago, but you know how it is. Sometimes, the last thing you want to do is talk to your parents. He doesn't stay on the phone long."

"Must be a lot of bones."

"Or poor signal."

Monica stared out over the water, thinking about her brother for a moment. "How's Daddy?"

"The same. He had a checkup earlier this week and he seems to be doing fine. And he's not as tired as he used to be."

"Is he still exercising?"

"Not as much as he should, but he keeps promising me that he's going to get serious about it."

"Tell him that I said he has to."

"I will. But he's stubborn, you know. It would be better if you told him. If I tell him, he thinks I'm nagging."

"Are you?"

"Of course not," she said quickly. "I just worry about him." Out on the water, a large sailboat was heading slowly toward the dock, and they both sat in silence, watching. It was relaxing, watching as the men on board hurried to prepare their anchor before they crashed on shore.

"It's good to hear you laugh again," Just murmured after a moment.

Monica glanced sideways at her.

"Don't look so surprised. There was a while there when you didn't. A long while." Judy touched Monica's knee gently. "Don't let Pete hurt you anymore, okay? You've moved on - remember that."

Monica nodded, and Judy pressed on with the monologue that Monica had practically memorized by now.

"And you'll keep moving on, too. One day you'll find someone who'll love you as you are-"

"Mom..." Monica interrupted, stretching out the word and shaking her head. Their conversation these days seemed always to come back to this.

For once, her mother caught herself. She reached for Monica's hand again, and even though Monica pulled it away at first, she persisted until Monica welcomed her embrace.

"I can't help it if I want you to be happy," she said "Can you understand that?"

Monica forced a smile, hoping it would satisfy her mother.

"Yeah, Mom, I understand."

* * *

AN: SPOILTER ALERT I'm going to update again in a few days...if I remember. My favorite chapter is coming up and I really hope you guys enjoy it. I know there isn't much Mondler yet, it's coming. If you guys are worried that Pete will come back, or Chandler will never get over Kathy, stop worrying. It's not that kind of story.


	7. Chapter 7

On Monday, Jonah began the process of settling into the routine that would come to dominate much of his life over the next few months. When the bell rang, officially ending the school day, Jonah walked out with his friends but left his backpack in the classroom. Monica, like all the other teachers, went outside to make sure kids got in the proper cars and onto the right buses. Once everyone was on the bus and the cars were pulling out, Monica wandered over to where Jonah was standing. He stared wistfully at his departing friends.

"I bet you wish you didn't have to stay, huh?"

Jonah nodded.

"It won't be so bad. I brought some cookies from home to make it a little easier."

He thought about that. "What kind of cookies?" he asked skeptically.

"Oreos. When I was going to school, my mom always used to let me have a couple when I got home. She said it was my reward for doing such a good job."

"Mrs. Peterson likes to give me apple slices."

"Would you rather have those tomorrow?"

"No way," he said seriously "Oreos are way better."

She motioned in the direction of the school. "C'mon. You ready to get started?"

"I guess so," he mumbled. Monica reached out, offering her hand, Jonah looked up at her. "Wait, do you have any milk?"

"I can get some from the cafeteria, if you want?"

With that, Jonah took her hand and smiled up at her for a moment before they headed back inside.

While Monica and Jonah were holding hands, heading toward the classroom, Chandler Bing was ducking behind his car and reaching for his gun, even before the echo from the last shot had died. And he intended to stay there until he figured out what was going on.

There was nothing like gunfire to get the old ticker pumping. The adrenaline seemed to enter his system as if he were hooked to a giant, invisible IV. He could feel his heart hammering, and his palms were slick with sweat.

If he needed to, he could put out a call saying he was in trouble, and in less than a few minutes the place would be surrounded by every law enforcement officer in the city. But for the time being, he held off. For one thing, he didn't think the gunfire was directed at him. He'd heard it, but it had sounded muffled, as if it had originated from somewhere deep in the building.

Had he been standing outside someone's home, he would have made the call, figuring that some sort of domestic issue had gotten out of hand. But he was at the abandoned office building, just outside the city lines. He knew it was unsafe, a molding wood structure that was a hangout for skater boys. At least, that's what it was when Chandler was a kid. Most of the time, no one bothered with the place. The floors were too old and rotten that they could give way any second, and rain pouring in through the gaping holes in the roof. The structure also tilted slightly, as if a strong gust of wind would topple it someday. Any smart individual would stay clear of this place as it could give way at any moment.

But now, in broad daylight no less, he heard the gunfire start up again - not a large-caliber gun, most likely a twenty-two - and he suspected there was a simple explanation, one that didn't pose much of a threat to him.

Still, he wasn't stupid enough to take any chances. Opening his door, he slid forward on the seat and flicked a switch on the radio, so that his voice would be amplified, loud enough for the people inside the house to hear him.

"This is the sheriff," he said calmly, slowly. "If you boys are about finished, I'd like you to come out so I can talk to you. And I'd appreciate it if you set your guns off to the side."

With that, the gunfire stopped completely. After a few minutes, Chandler saw a head poke out from one of the front windows. The boy was no older than twelve.

"You ain't gonna shoot us, are you?" he called out, obviously frightened.

"No, I'm not going to shoot. Just set your guns by the door and come on down so I can talk to you."

For a minute Chandler heard nothing, as if the kids inside were wondering whether or not to make a run for it. They weren't bad kids, Chandler knew, but he was sure they'd rather run than have him bring them home to meet with their parents.

"Now come on out," Chandler said into the microphone. "I just want to talk."

Finally, after another minute, two boys - the second a few years younger than the first - peeked out from either side of the opening where the front door used to be. Moving with exaggerated slowness, they set their guns off to the side and, hands thrust high in the air, stepped out. Chandler suppressed a grin. Shaky and pale, they looked as if they believed they were going to be source of target practice any second. Once they'd descended the broken steps, he stood from behind the car and holstered his gun. When they saw him, they hesitated for a moment, then slowly continued forward. Both were dressed in faded blue jeans and torn-up sneakers, their faces and arms dirty. As they inched forward, they kept their arms thrust above their heads, elbows locked. They'd obviously seen too many movies.

When they got close, Chandler could see that both of them were practically crying.

He leaned against his car and crossed his arms. "You boys doing some hunting?"

The younger one - ten, Chandler guessed - looked to the older one, who met his gaze. They were clearly brothers.

"Yes, sir," they said in unison.

"What's in the house there?"

Again they looked at each other.

"Sparrows," they finally said, and Chandler nodded.

"You can put your hands down."

Again they exchanged glances. Then they lowered their arms.

"You sure you weren't going after any owls?"

"No, sir," the older boy said quickly. "Just sparrows. There's a whole bunch of 'em in there."

Chandler nodded again. "Sparrows, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

He pointed in the direction of the rifles. "Those twenty-twos?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's a little much for sparrows, isn't it?"

Their looks were guilty this time. Chandler eyed them sternly.

"Now look...if you were owl hunting, I'm not gonna be too happy. I like owls. They eat the rats and mice and even snakes, and I'd rather have an owl around than any of those creatures, especially in my yard. But I'm pretty sure from all that shooting you were doing that you didn't get him yet, now, did you?"

After a long moment, the young one shook his head.

"Then let's not try again, okay?" he said in a voice that held no choice of disagreement. "It's also against the law. And that place isn't for kids. It's just about to fall down and you could get hurt in there. Now, you don't want me to talk to your parents, do you?"

"No, sir."

"Then you won't go after that owl again, will you? If I let you go, I mean?"

"No, sir."

Chandler stared at them wordlessly, making sure he believed them, then nodded in the direction of the nearest homes. "You live out that way?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you walk or ride your bikes?"

"We walked."

"Then I'll tell you what - I'll get your rifles and you two get in the backseat. I'll give you a ride back home and drop you off down the street. And I'll let it go this time, but if I ever catch you out here again, I'm gonna tell your parents that I caught you before and warned you and that I'm gonna have to bring you both in, okay?"

Though their eyes widened at the threat, they both nodded gratefully.

After dropping them off, Chandler made his way back to the school, looking forward to seeing Jonah. No doubt the boy would want to hear all about what just happened, though Chandler first wanted to find out how things had gone with Jonah.

And despite himself, he couldn't suppress a pleasant thrill at the thought of seeing Monica Geller again.

"Daddy!" Jonah screamed, running toward Chandler. Chandler lowered himself into position to catch his son just as he jumped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Monica had followed him out in a more sedate fashion. Jonah pulled back to look at him.

"Did you arrest anyone today?"

Chandler grinned and shook his head. "Not so far, but I'm not finished yet. How'd it go in school today?"

"Good. Miss Geller gave me some cookies."

"She did?" he asked, trying to watch her approach without being too obvious.

"Oreos. The good ones - Double Stuffed."

"Oh, well, you can't ask for more than that." he said. "But how'd the tutoring go?"

Jonah furrowed his brow. "The what?"

"Miss Geller helping you with your schoolwork."

"It was fun, we played games."

"Games?"

"I'll explain later," Monica said, stepping up, "but we got off to a good start."

At the sound of her voice, Chandler turned to face her and again felt pleasant surprise. She was wearing a long skirt and a blouse again, nothing too fancy, but when she smiled, Chandler felt the same strange fluttering he'd experienced when he'd first met her. It struck him that he hadn't fully appreciated how pretty she was the last time. Yes, he'd recognized the fact that she was attractive, and the same features immediately jumped out at him - jet black hair, the delicately boned face, eyes the color of turquoise - but today she looked softer somehow, her expression warm and almost familiar.

Chandler lowered Jonah to the ground.

"Jonah, would you go wait by the car while I talk to Miss Geller for a couple minutes?"

"Okay," he said easily. Then, surprising Chandler, Jonah stepped over and hugged Monica - who returned the squeeze with a hug of her own - before he scrambled off.

Once Jonah was gone, Chandler looked at her curiously. "You two seemed to have hit it off."

"We had a good time today."

"Sounds like it. If I'd known you were eating cookies and playing games, I wouldn't have been so worried about him."

"Hey...whatever works," she said. "But before you worry too much, I want you to know the game involved reading. Flash cards."

"I figured there was more to the story. How'd he do?"

"Good. He has a long way to go, but good." She paused. "He's a great kid - he really is. I know I've said that before, but I don't want you to forget that because of what's going on here. And it's obvious that he worships you."

"Thank you," he said simply, meaning it.

"You're welcome." When she smiled again, Chandler turned away, hoping she didn't realize what he'd been thinking earlier and at the same time hoping she did.

"Hey, thanks for the fan, by the way." she went on after a pause, referring to the industrial-size fan he'd dropped off at her classroom earlier that morning."

"No problem," he murmured, torn between wanting to stay and talk to her and wanting to escape the sudden wave of nervousness that seemed to come from nowhere.

For a moment neither of them said anything. The awkward silence stretched out until Chandler finally shuffled his feet and muttered, "Well...I guess I'd better get Jonah home."

"Okay."

"We've got some stuff to do."

"Okay." she said again.

"Is there anything else that I should know?"

"Not that I can think of."

"Okay, then." He paused, pushing his hands into his pockets. "I guess I'd better get Jonah home."

She nodded seriously. "You said that already."

"I did?"

"Yeah."

Monica tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. For a reason she couldn't quite explain, she found his good-bye adorable, almost charming. He was different from the men she had known back home, the ones who shopped at high-end stores like Brooks Brothers and never seemed to find themselves at a loss for words. In the months following her divorce, they'd begun to seem almost interchangeable, like cardboard cutouts of the perfect man.

"Well, okay, then," Chandler said, oblivious to everything except his need to depart. "Thanks again." And with that, he backed away in the direction of his car, calling for Jonah as he went.

His last image was of Monica standing out in the school yard, waving at the retreating car with a faintly bemused smile on her face.

In the coming weeks, Chandler began to look forward to seeing Monica after school with an enthusiasm he hadn't experienced since adolescence. He thought of her frequently and sometimes in the strangest of situations - standing in a grocery store while selecting a packet of pork chops, stopped at a traffic light, mowing the lawn. Once or twice, he thought of her as he was taking a shower in the morning, and he found himself wondering about her morning routines. Ridiculous things. Did she eat cereal or toast and jelly? Did she drink coffee or was she more of a herbal tea fan? After a shower, did she wrap her head in a towel as she put her makeup on or did she style it right away?

Sometimes he would try to imagine her in the classroom, standing in front of the students with a piece of chalk in her hand; other times he wondered how she spent her time after school. Though they exchanged small talk every time they met, it wasn't enough to satisfy his growing curiosity. He didn't know much about her past at all, and though there were moments when he wanted to ask, he held himself back from doing so. He just didn't know how to approach the subject. "Mainly I had Jonah work on spelling today and he did great," she might say, and what was Chandler supposed to say next? _That's good. And speaking of spelling, tell me - do you wrap your head in a towel after you shower?_

Other men knew how to do these things, but damned if he could figure it out. Once, in a moment of courage supplied by a couple of beers, he'd come close to calling her on the phone. He'd had no reason to call, and though he hadn't known what he would say, he'd hoped that something would strike him, a bolt from the sky that would hit him with wit and charisma. He'd imagined her laughing at the things he was saying, being positively overwhelmed by his charm. He'd gone so far as to look up her name in the phone book and dial the first three numbers before his nerves got the better of him and he'd hung up.

What if she wasn't home? He couldn't dazzle her if she wasn't even there to answer the phone, and he certainly wasn't going to have his rambling recorded on her answering machine only to be repeated over. He supposed he could hang up if the answering machine picked up, but that was a little too adolescent, now, wasn't it? And what would happen, God forbid, if she _was_ home but was on a date with someone else? It was, he realized, a possibility. He'd heard a few things around the parking lot of the school from some of the other single dads who'd finally caught on to the fact that she wasn't married, and if they knew, then others certainly knew it as well. Word was getting out, and soon, single men would start descending on her, using their wit and charisma, if they already hadn't.

Good Lord, he was running out of time.

The next time he picked up the phone, he actually got to the sixth number before chickening out.

That night, lying in bed, he wondered what the hell was wrong with him.


	8. Chapter 8

About a month after he'd first met Monica Geller, Chandler stood in the middle of the fields, watching Jonah play soccer. With the exception of playing with boxcars, Jonah loved to play soccer more than anything, and he was good at it. Kathy had always been athletic, even more so than Chandler. From her, Jonah had inherited both agility and coordination. From Chandler, as Chandler would mention casually to anyone who asked, he'd inherited speed. As a result, Jonah was a terror on the field. At the age that he is, Jonah played no more than half a game; since everyone on the team was required to have the same amount of playing time. Yet, this didn't keep Jonah from scoring the most, if not all, of the team's goals. In the first four games, he'd scored seventeen times. Granted, there were only three people to a team, goalkeepers weren't allowed, and half the kids didn't know in which direction they were supposed to kick the ball, but seventeen goals was still exceptional. Almost every time Jonah touched the ball, he took it the length of the field and kicked it right in.

Truly ridiculous, however, was the burst of pride Chandler experienced when watching Jonah perform. He loved it, secretly jumped for joy when Jonah scored, even though he knew it was nothing but a temporary phenomenon and didn't mean anything. Kids matured at different rates, and some kids practiced with more diligence. Jonah was physically mature and didn't like to practice; it was only a matter of time before the others caught up with him.

But in this game, by the end of the first quarter, Jonah had already scored four goals. In the second quarter, with Jonah on the sidelines, the opposing team kicked four goals to take the lead. In the third quarter, Jonah kicked two more, giving him twenty-three for the year, not that anyone was counting. Then his teammate added one more for their team. By the beginning of the fourth quarter, Jonah's team was behind 8-7. Chandler crossed his arms and scanned the crowd, doing his best to appear as if he didn't even realize that without Jonah his team would be getting destroyed.

_Damn, this was fun._

Chandler was so lost in his thoughts, it took a moment for the voice coming from his side to register.

"You got a bet riding on this game, Deputy Bing?" Monica asked as she walked up to him, grinning broadly. "You look a little nervous."

"No-no bet. Just enjoying the game," he answered.

"Well, be careful. Your fingernails are almost gone. I'd hate to see you accidentally nip yourself."

"I wasn't biting my nails."

"Not now," she said "But you were."

"I think you were imagining things," he countered, wondering if she was flirting with him again. "So..." He pushed up the brim of his baseball hat. "I didn't expect to see you out here."

Wearing shorts and sunglasses, she looked younger than usual.

"Jonah told me he had a game this weekend and asked if I'd come."

"He did?" Chandler asked curiously.

"On Thursday. He said that I would enjoy it, but I kind of got the impression he wanted me to see him doing something he was good at."

_Bless you, Jonah._

"It's almost over now. You've missed most of it."

"I couldn't find the right field. I didn't realize there would be so many games out here. From a distance, all these kids look the same."

"I know. Sometimes even we have trouble finding what field we're playing on."

The whistle sounded and Jonah kicked the ball to a teammate. The ball shot past him, though, and promptly rolled out of bounds. Someone on the other team chased after it, and Jonah glanced toward his father. When he saw Monica, he waved and she returned the wave enthusiastically. Then, settling into position with a determined look on his face, Jonah waited for the throw to put the ball back in play. A moment later, he and everyone else on the field were chasing after the ball.

"So how's he doing?" Monica asked.

"He's having a good game."

"Mark says he's the best player out here."

"Well...," Chandler demurred, doing his best to look modest.

Monica laughed. "Mark wasn't talking about you. Jonah's the one out there playing."

"I know that," Chandler said.

"But you think he's a chip off the old block, huh?"

"Well...," Chandler repeated, for lack of a clever response. Monica lifted an eyebrow, clearly amused. _Where was that wit and charisma he was counting on?_

"Tell me, did you play soccer as a kid?" she asked.

"They didn't even have soccer when I was a kid. I played the traditional sports. Football, basketball, baseball. But even if they'd offered soccer, I don't think I would have played it. I've got a bias against sports that require me to bounce a ball off my head."

"But it's fine for Jonah, right?"

"Sure, as long as he likes it. Did you ever play?"

"No. I wasn't much of an athlete, but once I was in college, I took up walking. My roommate got me into it."

He squinted at her. "Walking?"

"It's harder than it looks if you keep a fast pace."

"Do you still do it?"

"Every day. I have a three-mile loop that I follow. It's a good workout and it gives me a chance to unwind. You should try it."

"With all that spare time I have?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"If I went three miles, I'd probably be so sore I couldn't get out of bed the next day. That's if I could even make it."

She ran her gaze over him appraisingly. "You could make it," she said. "You might have to give up smoking, but you could make it."

"I don't smoke." he protested.

"I know. Rachel told me." She grinned and after a moment, Chandler couldn't help but smile as well. Before he could say anything else, however, a loud roar went up and both of them turned to see Jonah break away from the pack, charge down the field, and kick yet another goal, this one to tie the score. As Jonah's teammates surrounded him, Chandler and Monica stood together on the sidelines, both of them clapping and cheering for the same young boy.

"Did you enjoy it?" Chandler asked. He was walking Monica to her car while Jonah stood in line at the snack bar with his friends. The game had been won by Jonah's team, and after the game, Jonah had run up to Monica to ask her if she'd seen his goal. When she'd answered that she had, Jonah had beamed and given her a hug before scrambling off to join his friends. Chandler, surprisingly, had been all but ignored, though the fact that Jonah was fond of Monica - and vice versa - left him feeling strangely satisfied.

"It was fun," she admitted. "I wish I could have been here for the whole thing, though."

In the early afternoon sunlight, her skin glowed beneath the tan she still carried from the summer.

"It's fine. Jonah was simply glad you showed up." He glanced at her sideways. "So what's on your agenda the rest of the day?"

"I'm meeting my mom for lunch downtown."

"Where?"

"Central Perk? It's a little place around the corner from where I live."

"I know the place. It's great."

They reached her car, a red Nissan Sentra, and Monica started rummaging through her handbag for her keys. As she searched for them, Chandler found himself staring at her. With the sunglasses perched neatly on her nose, she looked more like the city girl she was than someone from a small town in the country. Add to that the faded jeans shorts and long legs, and she sure didn't look like any teacher Chandler had ever had growing up.

Behind them, a white pickup truck began backing out. The driver waved and Chandler returned the gesture just as Monica looked up again.

"You know him?"

"Even though we're surrounded by the city, it's a small area out here. It seems like I know everyone."

"That must be comforting."

"Sometimes it is, other times it isn't. If you've got secrets, this isn't the town for you, that's for sure."

For a moment, Monica wondered if he was talking about himself. Before she could dwell on it, Chandler went on.

"Hey, I want to thank you again for everything you're doing for Jonah."

"You don't have to thank me every time you see me."

"I know. It's just that I've noticed a big change in him these last few weeks."

"So have I. He's catching up pretty quickly, even faster than I thought he would. He actually started reading aloud in class this week."

"I'm not surprised. He's got a good teacher."

To Chandler's surprise, Monica actually blushed. "He's got a good father, too."

He liked that.

And he liked the look she'd given him when she'd said it.

As if uncertain what to do next, Monica fiddled with her keys. She selected one and unlocked her front door. As she swung the door open, Chandler stepped back slightly.

"So, how much longer do you think he'll need to keep staying after school?" he asked.

_Keep talking. Don't let her leave yet._

"I'm not sure yet. A while, for sure. Why? Do you want to start cutting back a little?"

"No," he continued. "I was just curious."

She nodded, waiting to see if he'd add anything else, but he didn't. "Okay," she finally said. "We'll keep going like we are and see how he's doing in another month. Is that all right?"

Another month. He'd continue to see her for at least that long. Good.

"Sounds like a plan." he agreed.

For a long moment neither of them said anything, and in the silence Monica glanced at her watch. "Listen, I'm running a little late," she said apologetically, and Chandler nodded.

"I know, you've got to go," he said, not wanting her to leave just yet. He wanted to keep talking. He wanted to learn everything he could about her.

What you really wanted was to ask her out.

And no chickening out this time. No hanging up the phone, no messing around.

Be the bullet! Be a man! Go for it!

He steeled himself, knowing he was ready...but...but...how should he do it? Good Lord, it had been a long time since he had been in a situation like this. Should he suggest dinner or lunch? Or maybe a movie? Or...? As Monica started to climb in her car, his mind was sorting and searching frantically, trying to come up with ways to prolong her time with him long enough to figure it out. "Wait - before you go - can I ask you something?" he blurted out.

"Sure." She looked at him quizzically.

Chandler put his hands in his pockets, feeling those little butterflies, feeling seventeen again. He swallowed.

"So..." he began. His mind was racing, those little wheels spinning for everything they were worth.

"Yes?"

Monica knew instinctively what was coming.

Chandler took a deep breath and said the first and only thing that came to mind.

"How's the fan working out?"

She stared at him, perplexed expression on her face. "The fan?" she repeated.

Chandler felt as if he'd just swallowed a ton of lead. The fan? What the hell was he thinking? The fan? That was all he could come up with?

It was as if his brain had suddenly taken a vacation, but for the life of him, he couldn't stop...

"Yeah. You know...the fan that I got you for your class."

"It's fine," she said uncertainly.

"Because I can get you a new one if you don't like it."

She reached out to touch his arm, a look of concern on her face. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said seriously. "I just wanted to make sure you're happy with it."

"You picked a good one."

"Good," he said, hoping and praying that a bolt of lightning would suddenly shoot from the heavens and kill him on the spot.

The fan?

After she pulled out of the parking lot, Chandler stood without moving, wishing that he could turn back the clock and undo everything that had just happened. He wanted to find the nearest rock to crawl under, a nice dark spot where he could hide from the world forever.

Thank God no one was around to hear it.

Except for Monica.

For the rest of the day, the end of their conversation kept repeating in his head, like a song he'd heard on early morning radio.

_How's the fan working out?...Because I can get you a new one...I just want to make sure you're happy with it..._

It was painful, physically painful, to recall it. And no matter what else he did that afternoon, the memory would lurk there under the surface, waiting to emerge and humiliate him. And on the following day, it was the same thing. He woke up with the feeling that something was wrong...something...and boom! There was the memory again, taunting him. He winced and felt the lead in his gut. And then he pulled the pillow over his head, hiding under his man-made rock.


	9. Chapter 9

"So how do you like it so far?" Rachel asked.

It was Monday, and Rachel and Monica were sitting at the picnic table outside, the same one that Chandler and Monica had visited a month earlier. Rachel had picked up lunch from the deli down the street, which in Rachel's opinion, made the best sandwiches in the city. "It'll give us a chance to visit," she'd said with a wink, before running out to the deli.

Though this wasn't the first time they'd had the chance to "visit," as Rachel put it, their conversation had usually been relatively short and impersonal: where supplies were stored, whom she needed to talk to to get a couple of new desks, things like that. Of course, Rachel had also been the one whom Monica had first asked about Jonah and Chandler, and because she knew Rachel was close to them, she also understood that this lunch was Rachel's attempt to find out what, if anything, was going on.

"You mean working at the school? It's different from the classes I had in Saratoga, but I like it,"

"You worked in the suburbs, right?"

"Yep, for four years."

"How was that?"

Monica unwrapped her sandwich. "Not as bad as you probably think. Kids are kids, no matter where they're from, especially when they're young. The neighborhood might have been rough, but you kind of get used to it and you learn to be careful. I never had any trouble at all. And the people I worked with were great. It's easy to look at test scroes and think the teachers don't care, but that's not the way it is. There were a lot of people I really looked up to."

"How did you decide to work there? Was your ex-husband a teacher, too?"

"No," she said simply.

Rachel saw the pain in Monica's eyes for a moment, but almost as quickly as she noticed it, it was gone.

Monica opened her can of Diet Coke. "He's an investment banker. Or was...I don't know what he does these days. Our divorce wasn't exactly amicable, if you know what I mean."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, "and I'm even sorrier I brought it up."

"Don't be. You didn't know." She paused before forming a lazy smile. "Or did you?" she asked.

Rachel's eyes widened. "No, I didn't know."

Monica looked at her expectantly.

"Really," Rachel said again.

"Nothing?"

Rachel shifted slightly in her seat. "Well, maybe I did hear a couple of things," she admitted sheepishly, and Monica laughed.

"I thought so. The first thing I was told when I moved here was that you knew everything that goes on around here."

"I don't know _everything."_ Rachel said rather modest. "And despite what you may have heard about me, I don't repeat everything I do know. If someone tells me to keep something to myself, I do." She tapped her ear with her finger and lowered her voice. "I know things about people that would make your head spin around like you're in dire need of an exorcism," she said, "but if it's said in confidence, I keep it that way."

"Are you saying this so I'll trust you?"

"Of course," she said. She glanced around, then leaned across the table. "Now dish up."

Monica grinned and Rachel waved a hand as she went on. "I'm kidding, of course. And in the future - since we do work together - keep in mind that I won't get my feelings hurt if you tell me I've gone too far. Sometimes I blurt out questions without really thinking, but I don't do it to hurt people. I really don't."

"Fair enough." Monica said, satisfied.

Rachel picked up her sandwich. "And since you're new in town and we don't know each other that well, I won't ask anything that might seem too personal."

"I appreciate that."

"Besides, it's not really my business anyway."

"Right."

Rachel paused before taking a bite. "But if you have any questions about anyone, feel free to ask."

"Okay," Monica said easily.

"I mean, I know how it is to be new in town and feel like you're on the outside looking in."

"I'm sure you do."

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

"So..." Rachel drew out the syllable expectantly.

"So..." Monica said in response, knowing exactly what Rachel wanted.

Again there was a period of silence.

"So...do you have any questions about...anyone?" Rachel prodded.

"Mmm...," Monica said, appearing to think it over. Then, shaking her head, she answered: "Not really."

"Oh," Rachel said, unable to hide her disappointment.

Monica smiled at Rachel's attempt at subtlety.

"Well, maybe there is one person I'd like to ask you about," she offered.

Rachel's face lit up. "Now we're talking," she said quickly. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, I've been wondering about..." She paused, trailing off, and Rachel looked at her like a child unwrapping a Christmas gift.

"Yes?" she whispered, sounding almost desperate.

"Well..." Monica looked around. "What can you tell me about...Bob Bostrum?"

Rachel's jaw dropped. "Bob...the janitor?"

Monica nodded. "He's sort of cute."

"He's seventy-four years old," Rachel said, thunderstruck.

"Is he married?" Monica asked.

"He's been married for fifty years. He's got nine kids."

"Oh, that's a shame," Monica said. Rachel was staring wide-eyed at her, and Monica shook her head. After a moment, she looked up and met Rachel's gaze with a twinkle in her eye. "Well, I guess that leaves Chandler Bing, then. What can you tell me about him?"

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and Rachel looked Monica over carefully. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were teasing me."

Monica winked. "You don't have to know me better: I admit it. Teasing people is one of my weaknesses."

"I knew I liked you. Together we can create an alliance." Rachel paused for a moment before smiling. "But now, while we're on the subject of Chandler Bing...I hear that you two have been seeing quite a bit of each other. Not only after school, but on the weekend, too."

"You know I've been working with Jonah, and he asked me to come out to watch him play soccer."

"Nothing more than that?"

When Monica didn't answer right away, Rachel went on, this time with a knowing look.

"All right...about Chandler. He lost his wife a couple of years back in a car accident. Hit-and-run. It was the saddest thing I've ever seen. He really loved her, and for a long time afterwards, he just wasn't himself. She was his high school sweetheart." Rachel paused and set her sandwich off to the side. "The driver got away."

Monica nodded. She'd heard bits and pieces of this already.

"It really hit him hard. As a sheriff especially. He took it as his own failure. Not only wasn't there a resolution, but he blamed himself for it. He kind of shut himself off from the world after that."

Rachel brought her hands together when she saw Monica's expression.

"I know it sounds awful, and it was. But lately, he's been a lot more like the person he used to be, like he's coming out of his shell again, and I can't tell you how happy I am to see that. He's really a wonderful man. He's kind, he's patient, he'll go to the ends of the world for his friends. And best of all, he loves his son." She hesitated.

"But?" Monica finally asked.

Rachel shrugged. "There are no buts, not with him. He's a good guy and I'm not saying that just because I like him. I've known him a long time. He's one of those rare men who, when he loves, he does it with all his heart."

Monica nodded. "That's rare," she said seriously.

"It's true. And try to remember all this if you and Chandler ever get close."

"Why?"

Rachel looked away. "Because," she said simply, "I'd hate to see him get hurt again."

Later that day, Monica found herself thinking about Chandler. It touched her to know that Chandler had people in his life who cared so much about him. Not family, but _friends._

She'd known that Chandler wanted to ask her out after Jonah's soccer game. The way he'd flirted and kept moving closer made his intention plain.

But in the end, he hadn't asked.

At the time, it seemed funny. She'd giggled about it, driving away - but she wasn't laughing at Chandler as much as she was laughing at how hard he'd made it seem. He'd tried, God knows he'd tried, but for some reason he couldn't say the words. And now, after talking to Rachel, she thought she understood.

Chandler hadn't asked her out because he hadn't known how. In his entire adult life, he'd probably never had to ask a woman out - his wife had been his high school sweetheart. Monica didn't think she'd ever known someone like that in Saratoga Springs, someone in his thirties who'd never once asked someone to dinner or to a movie. Oddly, she found it endearing.

And maybe, she admitted to herself, she found it a little comforting, because she wasn't all that different.

She'd started going out with Pete when she was twenty-three; out only a few times, the last time with a fellow who came on a little too strongly. After that, she told herself that she just wasn't ready. And maybe she wasn't, but spending time with Chadnerl Bing recently had reminded her that the past couple of years had been lonely ones.

In the classroom, it was usually easy to avoid such thoughts. Standing in front of the blackboard, she was able to focus completely on the students, those small faces that stared at her with wonder. She'd come to view them as her kids, and she wanted to make sure they had every opportunity for success in the world.

Today, though, she found herself uncharacteristically distracted, and when the final bell rang she lingered outside, until Jonah finally came up to her. He reached for her hand.

"Are you okay, Miss Geller?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said absently.

"You don't look so good."

She smiled. "Have you been talking to my mother?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Are you ready to get started?"

"Do you have any cookies?"

"Of course."

"Then let's get going," he said, dragging her the way they always went.

As they walked to the classroom, Monica noticed that Jonah wouldn't let go of her hand. When she squeezed it, he squeezed back, his small hand completely covered by hers.

It was almost enough to make her life seem worthwhile.

Almost.

When Jonah and Monica walked out of the school after the tutoring session, Chandler was leaning against his car as usual, but this time he barely looked at Monica as Jonah came running up to give him a hug. After going through their usual routine - trading stories about work and school, and so on - Jonah climbed into the car without being asked. When Monica approached him, Chandler glanced away.

"Thinking about ways to keep the citizens safe, Officer Bing? You look like you're trying to save the world," she said easily.

He shook his head. "No, just a little preoccupied."

"I can tell."

Actually, his day hadn't been all that bad. Until having to face Monica. In the car, he'd been saying little prayers to himself that she'd forgotten about how ridiculous he'd sounded the other day, after the game.

"How did Jonah do today?" he asked, keeping those thoughts at bay.

"He had a great day. Tomorrow I'm going to give him a couple of workbooks that really seem to be helping. I'll mark the pages for you."

"Okay," he said simply. When she smiled at him, he shifted from one foot to the other, thinking how lovely she looked.

And what she must think of him.

He forced his hands into his pockets.

"I had a good time at the game," Monica said.

"I'm glad."

"Jonah asked if I'd come watch him again. Would you mind?"

"No, not at all," Chandler said. "I don't know what time he plays, though. The schedule is on the refrigerator at home."

She looked at him carefully, wondering why he seemed so distant all of a sudden. "If you'd rather I not go, just say the word."

"No, it's fine," he said. "If Jonah asked you to go and watch, then by all means, you should. If you want to, of course."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'll let you know tomorrow what time the game is." Then, before he could stop himself, he added, "Besides, I'd like you to go, too."

He hadn't expected to say it. No doubt he'd wanted to say it. But here he was again, blabbering away uncontrollably...

"You would?" she asked

Chandler swallowed. "Yeah," he said, doing his best not to blow it now. "I would."

Monica smiled. Somewhere inside, she felt a twitch of anticipation. "Then I'll be there for sure. There's one thing, though..."

_Oh, no..._

"What's that?"

Monica met his eyes. "Do you remember when you asked me about the fan?"

With the word _fan_, all the feelings he'd had over the weekend rushed back, almost as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Yeah?" he asked cautiously.

"I'm also free on Friday night, if you're still interested."

It took only a moment for the words to register.

"I'm interested," he said, breaking into a grin.

* * *

AN: I would normally ask you guys to see what you want to see, date or no date, but I already posted past this on Wattpad and some of you already read it...so I'll just let you guys assume all will go according to plan ;)


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